


But Darling, Who Ever Said That Love Was Fair?

by bothromeoandjuliet



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty Cooper has many needs, Dark!Jughead, Dark!Veronica, F/M, Forbidden Love, I can't help it, I have a special place in my heart for angst okay?!, Its a love triangle, Veronica is self sacrificing, Veronica lodge loves jughead jones, so is Jughead, that only two out of the three know about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 02:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18273656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothromeoandjuliet/pseuds/bothromeoandjuliet
Summary: There is no room for blood and thorns in the bubblegum scented word that was Betty Cooper's life, and both Jughead and Veronica know it. But that doesn't mean that they can help what they are or what they feel. Only, nothings fair in love and friendship.





	1. In My Dreams We Walk Among The Night Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dead Kisses, Split Knuckles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895144) by [weheartscorose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weheartscorose/pseuds/weheartscorose). 



> *Throws part one of a two parter angst fest on you guys* *Goes to hide under my bed* Lol, JK. I hope that you guys like the story!

 

“I’m losing him V.” Betty murmurs, tear choked and nose dripping. “I’m losing him, to the Southside, to the Serpents; to all the darkness that he swore would never touch us.”

Betty’s newest article; the one that Veronica’s martyred herself into editing; lays forgotten on her perfectly pink quilt. The scent of the Sunday roast that Betty's mom is making, that she’s already fearing having to choke down, fills her nose and Betty is looking at her with eyes too filled with tears to be ignored.

“The darkness?”

Betty nods, rough tissue swiping at her nostrils.

“When we first started dating, it was like we were more alike then anything else in the world. The rest of Riverdale could be as dark as it wanted, but it didn’t matter because all we had to do to see the light was to look at one another; but now I look at him and I can see the darkness of the Southside clinging to him!”

Another tissue, lines of mascara that Betty won’t change no matter how many times Veronica tells her to buy waterproof. Paper crunches underneath her knees and Betty’s hair spills over Veronica’s shoulder, clinging to the silk sleeve of her dress. The angel on her shoulder. Her best friend.

 _Your best friend,_ her mind mocks her, _the one that you’re bad for, the one that you’re going to end up burning to ashes._

“How does the Southside cling to him Betty?” She asks, knowing that if she doesn’t Betty will be hurt; will think that she doesn’t care enough.

Betty’s hands, cold and clammy, wrap around her, forcing her to do the same. Blind leading the blind, drowning man reaching for drowning man.

“He tries his best to be the same, but I can see it. There’s a shadow in his eyes, from the things that he’s seen; the things that he’s done. It’s a coldness that I can’t warm away. He’s changed and he wasn’t supposed too, we weren’t supposed too. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he was supposed to be different!”

More tears, soaking her dress, dampening her soul. Veronica murmurs quiet lies into Betty’s ears; lies about ‘misunderstandings’ and ‘it’s going to be all rights,’ lies about how ‘the sun will rise up and things will be better.’ They sound hollow and obviously fake in her ears, but at eighteen Veronica’s perfected the art of telling pretty lies.

Eyes creep across her skin, she knows who it is, and looking up Veronica see’s him through the window, features set and face pale, starkly contrasted against the shadows of Archie’s room.

They stare at one-another for too long, for too complicated of reasons and the voice in her mind speaks again into her ear.

_See him, feel his stare against your skin and then try to tell me again that you’re a good friend. You can lie to your parents, to your friends, to the perfect girl-next-door, but you can never lie to yourself and darling, he’s almost more you then you are._

The voice sounds like a snarl and Veronica flinches, pulling Betty closer to her. Tighter, closer, the sunshine to her shadows, panicked prayers and closed eyelids. _I can be better, I can try harder, I promise! People can be good, people can change._

Betty sniffles, wiping at her eyes and the traitorous voice responds,

_No they can’t._

“Ronnie…” Betty’s voice is hesitant and Veronica cringes at its whining tone. “Ronnie, can’t you ask him to stop hurting me? I know that you think he doesn’t like you, but he respects your opinion, even if he tries not to, he can’t help it, no one can.”

Eyes still on her, fingers squeezed tight to hide their trembling, teeth, sharp and vicious against the inside of her cheek.

“Betty I…”

“Please V.” Betty pulls away and stands, leaving Veronica with empty arms and the cold tendrils of desperation coiling around her heart.

“I’ll try.” She whispers, _but people never change._

Black fills the sky and the clacking of her heels against the pavement makes her feel cheap, despite their expensive price tag.

Stars stare down at her, right down into her soul. They make her feel small and insignificant, like they can see into her guilty heart; inside her hellish mind. It’s safer to look at the ground, at the gutters, at the dirt where she belongs.

Cold air, bumps under her skin. Neon lights from Pops’ sign glint sharply and Veronica hesitates in the parking lot.

Because with Betty everything was so numbing to the senses, oppressive to every feeling that Veronica dares to give a name, draining her of all emotion. But standing in the neon light, watching his familiar silhouette where it sits, framed by one of Pops’ windows, Veronica could almost say that standing where she is now, she’s feeling everything too much, with too much raw intensity.

 _The overdramatic ramblings of eighteen,_ Veronica scoffs to herself, straightening the hem of her dress.

The metal bell rings inside her ears, and she doesn’t even attempt to hold onto the pretense that she’s not there for him. Pop raises an eyebrow in her direction as Veronica stalks past him, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s been around for too long, has seen too much, to be truly surprised by anything he sees anymore.

Southside hangs, perfectly fitted, off Jughead’s shoulders, glowing screen of his laptop lighting up his face, reflecting off his eyes as they drift heavily over her. His beanies nowhere to be seen and Veronica is thankful, because the Jughead that wore the beanie was Betty’s, kind and gentle, filled with soft words and butterfly kisses, but the Jughead sitting across from her right now is the Jughead that is truly real; the one who will drag his stare over her lips without apologizing and lick his own, almost like he’s wondering if she will taste how he’s imagined.

_Oh, but darling, don’t you wonder the same?_

“You’re out late tonight, Princess. Won’t mommy dearest be wondering where you are?”

Rolling her eyes, ignoring the way her blood heats up from his voice; how his eyes are half-lidded, taking on the sleepy appearance that Veronica imagines every night before she falls asleep.

“It’s only eleven-thirty, and I’m not your princess.”

“I never said you were.”

Fingers tap against black keys, his almost empty milkshake sliding across the table towards her. Veronica drops her head down, wrapping her lips around the red straw. She knows she shouldn’t, but those sea foam colored eyes are on her again, and Veronica is so tired of having to care about everything so much.

“So why are you here Princess. Avoiding your multitude of admirers? Or did you just feel like going a little bad.”

She shakes her head, hair swinging before her eyes, chocolate bitter-sweet on her tongue.

“None of the above. I’ve been sent with a mission of intervention.”

“And for whom would that be?”

“For you.”

“Me? Why?”

Veronica nods, pushing the laptop closed, forcing his fingers to be removed from it or be squashed. They land on the tabletop, knuckles riddled with blood and bruises. They should disgust her, if Veronica was good like Betty they would. But she’s not, so they don’t.

“Betty sent me. She’s worried about you, about your guys’ relationship.”

Another lump of chocolate slips down her throat and Jughead’s eyes flicker with something; frustration or guilt, Veronica’s honestly not sure.

“If Betty’s worried why isn’t she here instead of you?”

“Because she thinks that you’re more likely to listen to her fears if they’re coming from me.”

Eyes on her again, drinking her up, swallowing her whole. Hard ridges in the rubber of his sneakers pushing against the pointed toe of Veronica’s heels.

“And?”

“And, what?”

“And, do you think that I’ll listen better to you too?”

His words are a gambit, a challenge thrown out to see just how far she’ll go. Rubber bouncing off her toe, stare holding her breath captive inside her lungs.

“She thinks that you're changing; that the Southside is starting to cling to you.”

_It’s not, Jughead is the one clinging to the Southside and they both know it, but Betty’s tear stained face is in her head and Betty is so good to her._

“What about you, Princess. Do you think that the Southside is clinging to me?”

Smoke and mirrors, trying to distract her, trying to make Veronica forget why she’s there. Parroting her questions back at her because they both know that she’ll never answer him. She won’t; can’t, do that to Betty, to herself, hell, even to Jughead. There’s lines surrounding her, lines that must not be crossed if they want things to stay the same.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Betty is the one who’s worried about you changing.”

“I know that, I was asking for your opinion as an ‘impartial party.’”

_Hear him, and his pretty little lies. ‘Impartial,’ ha! I wonder if Betty would have sent you if she knew just how ‘impartial’ you really are._

“As an impartial party, I say that Betty was right in saying that you’ve changed but…”

Words catch in her throat, Jughead’s eyebrow arches and he leans forward, scarred hands planted on the table, heavy breath in her airspace and he whispers,

“But what, Princess?”

A hard swallow stuck in her throat, her fingers reaching up for the pearls that used to hang so constantly around Veronica’s neck. They don’t anymore, Veronica had smashed them on this very table with a hammer after her parents had split and her father had returned to the penthouse in New York four months ago.

Jughead had watched her then; watched her and wiped her damp cheeks and swiped wet tongue over dry lips with haunting eyes that had spelled darkness. And tonight he watches her again, watches her polished fingertips glide over silk and hollowed out collarbone, with his tongue darting out over his bottom lip and eyes that don’t just spell darkness, but instead promise it; revel in it.

“But the only way that people ever really change is to go back to what they were before.”

Sharp air hisses through Jughead’s teeth, and then he’s crashing backwards into his seat, decaying wood creaking, old and torn vinyl pressed harshly against the midnight black leather of the Southside.

“What they were before.” He mutters, head thrown back, pale throat exposed for anyone to see. Veronica doesn’t look at it, she fights hard and truly doesn’t, but she sees it all the same. “Do you know, I think I could loathe you sometimes Princess.”

“Do you really?” She mocks, because she can, because Veronica knows that Betty isn’t going to be the only one tucked up in bed with tears tonight.

He lowers his head, dark curls falling in his face and eyes cutting into her. “Really truly; more then the Devil himself.”

“Well you’re the one who asked. It’s not my fault you didn’t like that I’m right.”

“And if you’re right, what does that say about you? Daddy’s poor-little-rich-girl, raised with a silver spoon in your mouth and getting your education from a fancy little private school in the Upper East Side; a bad girl gone good, or just a bad girl whose gotten better at lying?”

Jughead’s words brand her; burn her hotter then anything else ever has, but Veronica keeps her reaction to a blink and asks,

“That was edging on clever. Is that how you plan on writing me in your novel?"

“I would but I can’t. People like to read about nice main characters, or so I’ve been told.”

“Me; your main character? Why not have it be Archie, or Betty? If good is what you want they’re it personified.”

“It has to be you. You’re far too beautifully human; too tragically broken, to be wasted on a side plot.”

Veronica meets his stare, eye to eye, and for one shining moment she forgets about Betty, about Archie, about her mom, and is just a girl hearing the hidden message in the boy she’s in love with’s words.

“And you aren’t?” She asks, reaching out to supposedly take a fry from Jughead’s plate, but when Jughead traps her wrist against the table; fingertips pressed lightly atop her pulse, Veronica doesn’t pull away.

“Not even enough for a speaking role.” Fingertips drop away, skin leaving skin and Jughead sighs heavily inside her ears. “I’m hurting her; I know I’m hurting her. But what can I do?”

 _You could leave her,_ Veronica’s mind suggests. _You could leave her and let the sunshine go and try to see just how far into the bad you’ll be able to fall._

“You should hold on to her. Throw Southside in the back of the closet, wear sleeves long enough to cover your tattoo and hold onto Betty for dear life, because you and I both know that there is nothing better for our souls then her.”

“Good for our souls huh? If good was that you wanted Princess, why’d you leave Archie?”

“Because I was hurting him. Because I showed my darkness to him not realizing that he would try to love it like he loved everything else about me. My darkness was too overpowering for Archie. I was bad for him.”

Veronica sighs, deep seated regret expressing itself with a single puff of air, and starts to pull her hand back across the table, only to be stopped by the feeling of Jughead’s left pinky wrapping around her thumb hesitantly.

Hesitant because she hurting, hesitant because he made her hurt, hesitant because the lines between barely acquaintances and almost friends and secret lovers are becoming more and more blurred as time goes on, as Archie falls to the wayside, as Betty grows to be more paranoid with each passing day.

“She’s too good for me.” He whispers, his voice palpable desperation. “She’s so good and kind and perfect. That’s what she wants me to be too but I can’t, I never could.”

Nail scraping against her skin, chills up her spine despite how warm the night is. _How far can we go before we break?_

“She doesn’t want you to be perfect Jug.” Veronica murmurs, cracking voice soft against the air. He looks at her; looks at her through her skin, through her bones, right into Veronica’s war-torn soul and his expression makes it look like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“But of course she does Princess. That’s all Betty’s ever wanted her whole life; the perfect teen rom-com, with the small, pretty town where nothing ever goes wrong, the parents who are nothing but kind and supportive, and the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks who is willing to change everything about himself just to see her smile.”

Brutal honesty, cold and cutting in Veronica’s ears.

 _And as sad as that is, she’s still better then you._ the voice mocks, _Better then your darkness, better then anyone or anything else this town has to offer, and you know it._

“A teen rom-com.” She mimics “And we’ll give it to her won’t we? Us and our breaking hearts will give it to her, every time.”

Jughead nods, slow and hungry, eyes soaking her in. “Over and over and over; for the rest of our lives.”

Tears tickle at the tip of Veronica’s nose and she throws a laugh, bitter tasting, into the air, pulling her hand out of reach from him.

“Walk her to school tomorrow. Hold her hand on the way to class and kiss her in front of her locker. Leave Southside for the trailer, for late nights at Pops, for the afternoons when good starts to drown you.” Veronica stands, legs shaky in rocking heels, dilated pupils on her skin, bright white teeth pulling tight against his too full lip.

“We’ve both been given our designated roles Jones, me the sassy best friend and you the diamond in the rough boyfriend, so you better play your part cause I can’t perform alone.”

Heels clacking, on linoleum, on smooth concrete, on pebbled tar. Stars shining, wetness against her cheeks and she knows he’s watching her.

Her phone glows brightly and Veronica presses on the conversation that she hardly ever uses.

 **_Veronica:_ ** _In my dreams we walk among the night sky._

 **_JJ the 3rd:_ ** _The stars shine as brightly as our tears._


	2. The Stars Shine As Brightly As Our Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. This one...this one hurt to write. Hope you guys enjoy it though! <3

 

“…And I believe that it is our duty as readers; as collectors of creativity, to dive as deep as we can into the smallest of things, which is why-“

The bell rings, dull and mechanical in Jughead’s ears. Pencils and notebooks slap against each other, shoes squeak against the floor, and chairs are shoved backwards. Sound layering over sound, halted by Mr. Johnson’s voice.

“Excuse me, but the last time that I checked I was still the one to dismiss you.”

Groans echo, and Reggie Mantel rolls his eyes so hard that it’s practically audible, but everyones stops to listen.

“Thank you. Now as I was saying, I believe that we owe it to the creators of our world to take the time to understand what they’re trying to say, so for the rest of the week I’m not going to be giving out any homework. Instead, I’m going to read you this quote from Leo Tolstoy’s ‘Anna Karenina’ and have you reflect on it for the rest of the week; no test, no pop quiz, just you and your minds, reflecting on these words.”

He pauses to clear his throat and the stirring slowly begins again.

“‘ _You’ve said nothing, of course, and I ask nothing,” he was saying; “but you know that friendships not what I want; that there’s only one happiness in life for me, that word that you dislike so…yes, love!_ ’ I want you to consider what Tolstoy could have been feeling when he wrote that; yes Reggie, even you. Now get your butts out of here, I’ve got a donut in the teacher’s lounge thats been calling my name since this morning.”

Jughead follows the rest of his classmates out of the room, pulling his headphones over his ears, trying his best to ignore how light denim feels on his shoulders compared to leather. Southside vs. Northside, strength vs. vulnerability.

Archie’s standing at his locker and Jughead jerks his head tightly upwards in greeting as he passes. Normally they would be walking to the cafeteria together but Archie doesn’t have the same lunch period as the rest of them this quarter and deep down in his heart of hearts Jughead is thankful. Because Jughead can fool Archie, and he can fool Betty, but he can’t fool both of them at the same time. And maybe it’s horrible that he’s thinking like that about his two oldest friends, but, in all honesty, Jughead doesn’t really care enough to stop, or maybe he cares too much. Jugheads not really certain anymore.

The cafeteria line is long and by the time he gets through it Jughead’s tray sits, uncomfortably heavy, in his hands. Faces blur, in and out of focus, constantly shifting, and then he sees her. The her he wants to see that is, not the one he should be wanting to see. She doesn’t look towards him, in fact, her eyes remain so steadfastly fixed on the project that Betty and Kevin are drooping their heads over on the opposite side of the table, that Jughead feels certain that she’s already seen him but is choosing to ignore him.

Jughead hates it when she does that; hates that it’s necessary, hates that it works, hates that if it were him he would do the same.

“Hi Juggie!” Betty cries, green eyes blinking and innocent, as she smiles up at him.

Sugary sweet smiles; they strangle him; strangle him so much that he can barely see straight but, _she’s Betty_ , his mind reminds him. So Jughead smiles weakly back at her, dropping his tray down next to Veronica’s and sliding onto the bench to sit next to her.

Big, brown eyes widen, and she’s staring silent protestation into the side of his skull, but Betty only presses her lips together for a second or two and Kevin isn’t making any movement to move as far as Jughead can see, so he just smirks down at his tray, because if he was going to be given the opportunity to sit next to her, no way in hell was Jughead going to waste it.

“What are you two working on?” He asks, acutely aware of just how little space there actually is on these benches; of how little space separates Veronica’s shoulder and his.

Both faces look up at him, slightly glazed over with concentration and Betty smiles again, saying,

“Kevin and I got partnered up for an assignment in English. We’re writing a joint essay on ‘Great Expectations.’” A pause, a blush and then, “What are you working on in English, Juggie? Is Mr. Johnson slacking off again?”

Betty’s tone is too casual, too calculating, sounds too much like her mother’s does when she’s going after a story. Because Betty takes issue with Mr. Johnson and with his teaching methods, and had even said, if Jughead’s memory served him correctly, that she (Betty) would be having her mom talk to the principle the next time that she heard about Mr. Johnson slacking off.

Never mind the fact that he was Jughead’s favorite teacher, or that he’s successfully gotten Reggie to write a short story and actually enjoy doing it. That didn’t matter to Betty and it had been a long time since Jughead had used her as his sounding board with…well anything really, so he forces another smile, his voice dangerously close to frustrated as he replies,

“No, he’s not. Right now we’re going through the different works of Tolstoy.”

Half truth, half lie. Another smiling nod, Betty's blonde ponytail bouncing behind her, and Kevin looks up at him with eyes, that if they aren’t necessarily suspicious, are the closest thing to it and Jughead braces himself for the fallout when Veronica speaks.

“Bettykins, since you’re the Blue and Gold’s editor, can’t you do something about our school lunches? I mean, I appreciate the dieting help and all, but even professional trainers recommend a cheat day once and a while!”

Her tone is too bright, too playful, too desperate for attention, for Jughead to believe even for a second that it might be legitimate. She’s taking the heat, covering for Jughead in the only way she can and it works, which is only to be expected when it comes to Veronica. Both Kevin and Betty turn towards her, lips twisted into what Jughead knows are mocking grins.

“I would, but I can’t, V. It’s not my department; you’d have to talk to Josie since she’s student body president.”

Betty’s reply is perfectly friendly, bland even, but Jughead can hear its mocking undercurrent. Mocking because, of course Veronica was asking a stupid question, of course she didn’t know whose job was whose, why would Veronica know anything about something that wasn’t boys or fashion? That's the hidden meaning, even if Betty doesn’t know it; Jughead can hear it, and he grits his teeth together because Veronica can hear it too. The too big smile widens, and as Betty and Kevin lower their eyes, Veronica’s fingers lift to her throat.

Lifting, lifting; over the cashmere of her sweater, the silk of her blouse, meeting the empty skin where her pearls used to lie. Searching for them every time she gets nervous. A bad habit she’s gotten into over the years, one that he knows Veronica hates falling back into. Her smile drops, and dark colored fingernails do the same, falling out of sight underneath the table.

Jughead doesn’t look at her, just switches the tan, plastic fork to his left hand, lowering the other to meet hers where it hangs limply into nothingness, wrist pressed sharply against the cold metal of the bench.

Betty murmurs something about semicolons, Kevin mutters back, and all around them conversations rise and fall in volume.

Knuckles brush against knuckles and even like this Jughead wonders how Veronica always keeps her hands so soft, even with the late nights washing dishes at Pops or the hours spent picking up shards of glass; from champagne bottles broken when Veronica’s mother has thrown them against the wall, in acts of unusual violence, reeking of a desperation to feel something.

Light pressure against the top of Jughead’s sneaker from the toe of Veronica’s heeled foot, and he wonders if she’s wearing the Dior ones today, the ones with a dark scruff mark along the inner right shoe, that Veronica refuses to throw out. Jughead knows she wants him to pull away, knows that Veronica's not strong enough to; but he’s not strong enough to either so he doesn’t.

“Ronnie,” Betty begins to speak and then she’s jerking away from him, sole of her shoe scraping against black canvas, heat of her fingers disappearing from his.

“Ronnie, don’t you think that Cheryl’s pushing it with this new routine? I mean, parents are going to be coming to the game, and young kids! Just how many butt cheeks do you think they are going to be okay with seeing?”

Stretching his fingers outwards, searching, searching, yearning for the sensation of her hand against his. Finding them, gripping them as tight as he dares. She holds herself stiffly against him, strains to pull away.

“That's a excellent point Betty. In fact, I’m gonna go talk to her about it right now.”

Hasty words, breath filled and quivering in Jughead’s ears. Standing, she wrenches her hand away one final time, and Jughead's left with no choice but to let her go. Veronica marches away from the table, head held high, angry red marks glowing on her cheeks. He watches her go from under his lashes, watches as the cafeteria doors fall closed behind her, taking his heart with her. Staring down at his tray burning holes through it to the floor, fingers digging into the edge of the table.

“Are you okay Juggie?” Betty’s voice, concerned in his ears, because lately she’s always concerned when it comes to Jughead. And that should bother him; if he was worth the love Betty gave him it would, but he’s not; never has been and never will be.

“I’m fine Betts. I just remembered that there's something that I need to get from my locker for my next class.”

Rising to his feet; unsteady. Round green irises burn against Jughead’s face and he does his best to keep his face neutral; regrets the guilt that he doesn’t feel.

“Okay…I’ll see you later I guess. Meet you at Pops later?”

“Maybe, I guess…” her face falls and Jughead hurries to correct himself. “I mean, yeah. Around four-ish okay?”

“I’ll check with my mom!”

The smile is back, softly beaming goodness into his soul. He doesn’t deserve it, and walking away he chokes down self-loathing; piles it on top of years of self-hate; years of darkness that is just waiting to come to the surface.

The hallways are empty and Jughead thanks his lucky stars for it as he pulls the door to the student lounge closed behind him, the clicking of the lock echoing too loudly in the quiet space.

Veronica sits primly in one of the plush armchairs, arms holding her notebook for her next class, (biology, Jughead remembers,) tight against her chest, and as he walks up to her Jughead notices that her eyelids are squeezed closed, like she’s trying to shut out the world.

 _Or close herself off from it._ Jughead thinks to himself.

Legs bend and Jughead's kneeling in front of her, hands seeking support from the armrests of her chair, effectively cornering her. Veronica knows that he’s there, she has to; but the eyes remain closed and Jughead catches bits of broken prayers in Spanish. How Jughead wishes he could understand them.

“Princess.” He murmurs, watching as Veronica’s black lashes sweep upwards and brown eyes meet his.

“You’re mad at me.” Jughead sighs. She shakes her head ‘no’ but the firm pressure of her lips tell another story, so he continues.

“You’re mad because of what I said last night, about how we’d be playing these games for the rest of our lives.”

“Why would I be mad about that? You were just being honest; you can’t help what the truth is.”

 _It might be the truth,_ he thinks, _but just because it’s true doesn’t mean it hurts any less._

Pearl white teeth worry at her lip, peeling away her lipstick and he idly wonders how he would describe it. Too dark for pink and to light for blood; ebony and rose petals twisted together, smeared over Veronica’s curving lips. They look soft, they look smooth, and Jughead licks his own in an attempt to have the same, momentarily sealing cracks closed.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what, Princess?”

“Don’t look at me like you want to kiss me. It isn’t fair, to anyone, least of all to Betty.”

Tired words, ones that she’s said to him before. And he should listen to her, Jughead knows he should but he’s eighteen, and weren’t you allowed to do what you shouldn’t when you were eighteen?

“You want to know what else isn’t fair, Princess? Me wanting to kiss you but not being allowed to.”

Pink covers her cheeks and Jughead feels as if crown and kingdom have been bestowed upon him as he watches her, only for the feeling to be snatched away with her next words.

“You can’t say things like that Jug. Remember Betty, remember what we owe her.”

“I know, I know. The good for our souls, we have to protect her, keep her pure. I wish we didn’t; sometimes it feels like we’ve been sent to hell without dying. Our own personal purgatory.”

“The overdramatic ramblings of eighteen,” Veronica teases, shoulders sagging. “but I know what you mean. Sometimes I wonder if I’m being punished for something, and others I know that what I’m going to be punished for is caring about you when I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t you ever wish it could be different?”

“Always. But there’s nothing we can do, just grit our teeth and pray to wake up one day and hate one another.”

Her voice quivers, despondent yet desperate in his ears. Jughead’s fingers tighten, the barely healed skin over his knuckles pulling dangerously tight.

“There is something…I could always break up with her, stop trying so hard to fill the gaps Archie left in her; experience happiness for a change.”

“Jug...” She murmurs, lips barely parting, eyes shiny with tears. “You know that that wouldn’t change anything.”

“Why not?” Pleading voice filling his ears, words spilling unplanned from Jughead’s mouth.

“What would it change Jug? Betty would be heartbroken, Archie would push you away and we still couldn’t be together, because it would just hurt her more.”

He shudders and Veronica’s polished fingertips wrap around his wrists, centering him, pulling him down to earth and sending him out to space all at once.

“You would lose everything, Jughead. No Archie, no Betty, no light to hold onto.”

“Not everything,” he whispers, unmoving, breath heavy in his lungs, _don’t let me go_.

“I’d still have my dad, and the Serpents and…and you.”

Searching her face with earnest eyes, begging silently, _promise me I’ll have you_.

“Well of course you’d have me; but would you want me? Even if the only me you could have was the one in the dark; in late nights at Pops, in hidden glances over turned shoulders in the hallway, in late night phone calls when all you can have is my voice?”

Tears overflow, two wet lines of humanity falling down over her doll-like mask. Jughead wants to wipe them away, wants to hold her face in his battle-scarred hands and whisper promises that it won’t always be like this, but Veronica keeps her fingers tight around his wrists, keeping him away from her.

“‘Course I would. I mean, if we’re being honest, thats all we have now. At least then we’d be one step closer to what we want.”

Veronica’s eyes dart away from his face, finding the clock on the wall, finding out just how much time they have before they have to go back to pretending.

“Princess-“

“Stop, just…please stop. What happened to being there for Betty, to giving her her teen rom-com like you said last night?”

She’s angry, thick words choking themselves into existence, and Veronica stands, stepping over Jughead’s outstretched arm towards the door. He follows her example, bones cracking as he stands, eyes following her.

“Words. Words; they’re so easy when they aren’t forced to be action and I’m so sick of it all. Of constantly lying through my teeth, of having to watch while Betty pulls the strings to make you dance.”

She doesn’t turn, her hand gripping the doorknob so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Standing behind her, he’s too close and yet much too far and he can smell the scent of her cinnamon shampoo.

“You make it sound like I’m her puppet.”

Mocking grins flash through in his mind, matched with condescending tones.

“Aren’t you? You can’t even admit that you want to be with me because you’re too scared to hurt her; too scared to disappoint her.”

“That isn’t fair; Betty…she’s been so good to me, she deserves…You can’t say that.”

“So you’ll let her dictate your entire life just because she’s been good to you? What kind of life will that end up giving you, Princess?”

Heaving shoulders as Veronica sighs, and when she speaks he can hear the tears in her voice.

“I don’t know. I do this with everyone, with Archie, with Betty, with my parents, with everyone but…”

She trails off and Jughead murmurs the ending of her unfinished thought into her ear.

“With everyone but me, right?”

“Yes, with everyone but you, and look where its gotten me.”

Knob turning, dark curls disappearing into the hallway, leaving Jughead alone. The door swings shut, and he presses his forehead against cool trim-board, the sound of her words echoing in the silent air.

_What a cruel fate we write for ourselves._


	3. I Could Try To Hate You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that I said this was gonna only be a two parter but....Yeah, that didn't end up being what happened. I'm not sure how many chapters this story is gonna be but keep a look out for future chapters!

 

Two weeks; two weeks since their conversation in the student lounge; two weeks since Veronica had started crying herself to sleep; two weeks since she had last spoken to Jughead.

At first avoiding him was easy; all it took was changing some shifts at Pops and spending more time at home. Obviously he’d know that she’d needed space, so for a few days he had let her be, hadn’t called or texted, hadn’t even tried to catch her eye in Spanish, the only class they shared.

But then two days had turned into five and after the first weekend had passed Jughead was doing everything he could to talk to her. Purple had been added to the already brown circles under his eyes and seeing it killed Veronica, but what could she do?

_It’s just too hard._

“Mom?” Veronica called, pulling the apartment’s door closed behind her, hoping that there would be no reply, hoping for a late night of work at the mayor’s office, so all she would have to do was scrub the day’s makeup off her face and fall into bed.

It had been a long day, with Jughead kicking at the back of her shoes in class and trying to corner her at her locker, then coming into Pops during her shift and staring at her from his booth, face twisted into an expression that Veronica knew she wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon.

Silence answers her, and breathing a sigh of relief Veronica hurried to her room, footsteps muted against hardwood floors. Her phone rings and Veronica switches it off as quickly as she can, praying for him to take the hint and spend the night asleep instead of texting her paragraphs about how he misses her. He needs the sleep, Veronica knows, even Betty had mentioned his worsening looks during their study session the night before.

Her bedroom door swings open without a sound and while closing it behind her, Veronica snaps on a lamp, its light revealing her mother sitting on her bed, shoulders hunched, stare on the floor.

“Mom? What are you doing in here; you scared me!”

Her mother doesn’t say anything for a moment, like she’s collecting her thoughts. Then, straightening herself, she patted next to her on the bed, dark eyes watching Veronica like a hawk.

“I’m sorry Ronnie, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Come sit down; we need to talk.”

“What is it? Are you okay? Did something happen to daddy?”

Her voice sounds too panicked, and her questions are asked too quickly, but her mother doesn’t seem to notice, just shakes her head emphatically.

“No, no. Everything alright it’s just…” grabbing Veronica’s hand tightly in both of hers. “I called Archie.”

She pauses expectantly, like she’s just dropped a bomb and is ready for it to go off. It’s clear that she’s waiting for a response of some sort so, brows furrowing, Veronica complies.

“Okay…”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you and he broke up?” her mother exclaims, and Veronica bites her lip.

 _Oh, so that’s what this is about,_ Veronica thinks to herself, and then,

“I just didn’t really think it was important I guess. People break up all the time in high-school.”

“Not important? Veronica, you fought against your father for Archie, you disowned him for Archie!”

“No, Mom, I fought against him because he was hurting people and doing the wrong thing ninety-nine percent of the time. Archie may have been one of the reasons, but he wasn’t the only one.”

Her mother nods, her eyes damp, and Veronica curses herself for not being more gentle, and so pulling her hand away, Veronica wraps her arms around her mother’s shoulders in a way that feels horridly familiar.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. It happened right before Dad moved out and I guess it just slipped my mind.”

“I should have been there for you. Break-ups are hard and you loved him so much…”

Blue eyes and blood covered knuckles flash through Veronica’s mind and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from exclaiming how her mother’s words are wrong.

“I wouldn’t say that I loved him, more like…I was infatuated with him. He’s the star of the football team with about six-hundred abs and would play me love songs on his front porch as the sun went down, who wouldn’t have imagined that they were in love with that picture! But infatuation fades and we both decided that we’d be better off as friends.”

The lie slips from her mouth so easily that Veronica doesn’t have time to catch it. Because the truth is, it hadn’t been infatuation for Archie. He had loved her, and if the stares that he sent her in the hallways at school were any indication, loved her still.

 _‘I can’t just be your friend,’_ He had told her. _‘because friends don’t love their friends.’_

“It was just puppy-love Mom. Nothing for you to feel guilty about.”

“Well…if you’re sure you’re all right.” Her mother murmurs, lifting her head from Veronica’s shoulder and rising from the bed.

“I’m sure.” Veronica hastily reassures her, watching as her mother walks to the door.“Why did you call him though?”

“Hmmm?” turning, hand on the doorknob, already halfway through the door. “Oh. Well, your phone kept going off, and you seemed upset lately so I thought that maybe you two had had a fight; I called him to ask, I thought that maybe I could help.”

The door closes quietly behind her and Veronica throws herself backward, landing heavily against Egyptian cotton.

 _I’ve been acting too out of character,_ she thinks, _and if my mom’s noticed then soon everyone else is going to too._

Her phone screen glows brightly into her eyes as she texts Pop Tate, asking him if she can work a few extra shifts tomorrow. Maybe she’s overcorrecting, but Veronica would rather be safe then sorry.

* * *

 

Saturday nights at Pops are normally busy, but after a long day of clouds and rain that had given way to a cold wind that sped its way through the dark sky, it wasn’t really very surprising that Archie, Betty and Jughead were the only ones bored enough to come to the dinner for a late night snack.

That’s what Betty calls it at least, even though Veronica knows the truth. The truth, that Betty’s been struggling to be able to spend time with Jughead because he keeps ‘blowing her off,’ as Betty likes to describe it; with eyes angry and tone frustrated; unless it involves food in some way. Or Archie.

“Come on V!” Calls Betty, shocking Veronica out of her thoughts and forcing her to realize that she’s been wiping down the same display case for at least five minutes longer then she had any reason to.

“Nobody else is here, so just make yourself a milkshake and come sit with us!”

Three pairs of eyes, excited green, lovestruck brown, and ocean blue that have enough kindness to not look at her.

“Betty, you know that you’re my girl, and I love you, but I’m not getting paid to sit with my friends and drink milkshakes.”

“I know that, but I feel like lately I never get to see you unless it involves school or you being my waitress!” Betty pouts, slumping dramatically against Jughead; quite a feat considering how far he’s shoved himself into the corner of the booth.

“Alright B, your complaints are heard and shall be rectified at the soonest possible date.”

Betty straightens with a wide smile, body completely removed from his, and Veronica hates how it makes it easier to breath.

“In way of a shopping trip? I was looking around the other day and I saw this green dress that you absolutely have to buy!”

Humming noncommittally, Veronica turns away and hurries into the kitchen, hoping she was fast enough to hide the rush of blood that she’s certain is covering her face. Because Jughead likes it when she wears green; likes to compliment her in barely hushed whispers; likes to wrap his fingers around her wrist and find her out fast her pulse is racing when he delivers said compliments. If Jughead and Veronica were a dangerous combination, then Jughead, Veronica, and green were an even worse one.

Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen, and Pop Tate is starting to look at her strangely for still being there, so tightening an already too tight ponytail and taking a breath so deep it hurts her lungs, Veronica forces herself to go back out to the front.

She regrets it instantly.

Betty and Archie have disappeared, leaving Jughead alone in the booth, his hands toying with his old wallet. It’s faded and tearing at the corner, and Veronica reminds herself to buy him a new one for his next birthday.

He looks up at her approach and Veronica bites hard at the inside of her cheek, because she’s never seen his eyes so darkness filled. Jughead notices, because he always does, and he smirks, half-upturned lip sending Veronica’s steps wavering. He probably notices that too, curse him.

“Where did everyone go?” she asks, praying her voice doesn’t betray her, eyes on the three empty milkshake glasses.

“Betty’s mom texted; she wanted her to come home.”

His voice is cold in her ears and she glances towards him, eyebrow arched mockingly.

“So you just what, didn’t walk her home? You truly are the best boyfriend in Riverdale aren’t you?”

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is to fall back into their playful banter, but from where she’s standing, looking down at him, Veronica has the high ground in the conversation and she doesn’t want to have to give it up quite yet.

“Archie walked her, you know it’s closer for him then me.” He stands as he speaks, and all of a sudden he’s much to close, looming over her with dark curls falling against his forehead, undeniably taking the high ground from her before he continues, “Besides, someone had to stay and pay for our food.”

Gulping, Veronica turns, pulling the glasses into her arms and hightailing her way into the kitchen; trying to ignore his heavy stare and how it's pressing into the nape of her neck.

“Here you go, Pop. Last dishes of the night.”

“Thanks Veronica.” Taking the glasses from her and dropping them into the half filled sink. “You can head home now if you like; I’m going to do some paperwork in the office so I’ll close up tonight.”

She nods, snatching her coat from it’s hook as she leaves the kitchen. Jughead’s nowhere to be seen and two ten dollar bills rest lay on the counter next to the cash register in way of payment, giving Veronica five dollars in change. It’s too much, Veronica knows that he has smaller bills, and she hates it when he tips her.

Pulling her coat on, (new, a gift from her dad since apparently one of his assistance had told him about the cold snap that was overtaking Riverdale,) Veronica tugs the door open, and starts at the sight of Jughead leaning against the metal stair rail.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m walking you home.”

Rolling her eyes, Veronica stalks past him down the stairs, into the parking lot, saying over her shoulder, “Don’t be an idiot Jones.”

For a moment Veronica thinks he isn’t going to follow her, and she’s in the middle of trying to decide whether or not that is a good thing, when she hears the sound of his boots against the ground. His long stride catches up to her easily, and by the time she’s reached the road they’re walking side by side.

“I thought I told you to _not_ be a idiot Jughead.”

“I’m not being an idiot, I’m being a gentleman. It’s past midnight and in a town like Riverdale, past midnight is a dangerous time to be walking home alone.”

Scoffing, staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice when he walks closer to her.

“I would’ve thought that you would’ve taken the hint by now, Jughead.”

“And what hint would that be?”

“The hint that this…that we need to stop.”

Headlights flash and Jughead’s hand comes up, wrapping itself around Veronica’s bicep, pulling her closer to him, and they both move off the road.

There’s a gravel path that leads to the back of the Pembrooke; it's a killer when she’s wearing heels, and vaguely threatening when Veronica’s walking down it by herself. Veronica hadn’t even known that Jughead had know of its existence, but judging by how calmly he leads her onto it, he’s known about it a lot longer then she has.

Jughead’s fingers slide; tense; down her arm, brushing gently over her wrist, then around her hand, the impossible warmth of his fingers entangling with the chill of hers.

“Princess…” Jughead’s voice is barely more then a whisper, tasting the too familiar nickname as it rolls over his tongue. “Princess, when are you going to take the hint that I won’t; that I _can’t_ let you go?”

His words sound like honey in her ears; slow and dripping and tantalizingly just out of her reach. Leaves flutter along with the breeze overhead and Veronica resists the urge to grip Jughead’s hand tighter.

“Why can’t you let me go?” She whispers; the silent scene of her father walking to his plane in the airport without looking back at her, even when Veronica had given in and called out for him, replaying in her head.

 _You’re so easy to let go aren’t you._ The voice mocks, her own voice Veronica knows, but somehow it’s easier to pretend it’s someone else’s. _It’s so easy to let you go; you can only wonder how long it’ll take for him to let you go too._

“Because letting you go…Letting you go would be agony, Princess.”

They’re within sight of the Pembrooke now, it’s backside every bit as impressive as it’s front. Jughead had once called it a prison, and although Veronica had scoffed at him at the time, privately she agreed.

_A prison, a beautiful prison, but a prison none the less._

“Agony?” Veronica asks, tone disbelieving, and she can feel him turn to look down at her. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit overdramatic Jughead? I mean, I’m just a girl.”

“Just a girl?” he parrots, indignantly. “ _Just_ a girl wouldn’t have been able to steal my sleep away like you did these past two weeks. You haunt me Princess, and thinking that it was over nearly killed me.”

They emerge from the trees, cloaked in shadows from the Pembrooke. No lights are visible and everything sounds deathly quiet, like the rest of the world has faded away, leaving her and Jughead to themselves.

“I thought that I’d lost you for good Princess, and it was agony for me, every second.” a pause, both in movement and his voice and then,

“But it was agony for you too, wasn’t it.”

“No.” Veronica lies, eyes straight ahead, tearing her hand out of his grasp and moving forward.

His voice is too intense; it boils her blood and Veronica doesn’t think that she can bear for Jughead to see it written on her face.

Skin on skin, fingers wrapped around her arm, hands brushing against the material of her coat, and then Veronica’s pinned, the back of her head barely brushing against the rough surface of the Pembrooke’s exterior. He stands, hands planted on either side of her head, sea-foam eyes scanning her face. Veronica drops her eyes, desperately hoping that her expression is guarded enough.

It’s not.

Jughead’s laugh is quiet, it’s more of a chuckle really. It starts deep in his veins and ends somewhere in the air between them, warm breath in Veronica’s face.

“Liar.” He whispers, fingers coming up to her cheeks, thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the concealer Veronica had applied so carefully that morning. 

“Jughead…” Veronica protests weakly and the fingers cease all movement, although Jughead doesn’t stop holding her face and when he speaks, his voice is gentle.

“Has anyone else noticed?”

“No. I didn’t want them too.”

Jughead nods, expression hidden in shadows and Veronica can feel her phone vibrating in her coat pocket. It could be her mom, asking where she is, but more likely it’s Betty, making sure that Veronica had gotten home alright and wondering if she could call Veronica for a ranting session before bed.

The thought of Betty awakens the guilt that’s always sleeping somewhere deep in the pit of Veronica’s stomach, and she swallows down the shuddering sigh that she knows is hovering near the surface.

“Jughead…I have to go inside. I can’t stay, you know I can’t stay.”

“I know.”

Murmured words, hushed in the cold air, and he leans in closer, tilting Veronica’s head upward. Breath catching in her lungs and she knows she should turn away.

“I know.”

Veronica’s eyelids flutter shut and his lips press against her skin, underneath one eye and then the other, as if he can remove the signs of weeks of lost sleep with a single kiss. Veronica digs her nails into the building’s stone, hears Jughead’s breath, ragged in her ears as he moves away.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, pulling away from her; dragging himself away.

Veronica’s eyes drift open, watching as he bolts, disappearing back into the trees, hidden, out of sight and Veronica thinks to herself,

_I’m sorry too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always the cherry on top of any fic!! <3


	4. But It Wouldn't Be Of Any Use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for 1000+ hits! You are all amazing and I hope that this chapter lives up to any expectations you may or may not have had! <3

 

“…Juggie. Jughead? Jughead, are you even listening to me?”

Betty’s annoyed voice floats through the air, its sharpness pulling him out of the mental fog he’s been sitting in for who knows how long, and Jughead shifts his stare from the Cooper’s glaringly white ceiling to his girlfriend’s irritated face.

“Sorry Betts, what was that?”

“I was saying that you should wear your green flannel for Cheryl’s party tonight.”

Lifting his arm slightly, Jughead glances at the flannel he’d snagged ‘fresh’ from his bedroom floor that morning. There’s no obvious stains or holes as far as Jughead can see and lowering his arm back down to the couch, he raises an eyebrow in confusion, asking,

“Why would I do that?”

“Because,” Betty sighs, loud in his ears, straightening the hem of her grey sweater. “I’m wearing a pink dress and I don’t want to clash with the red in your flannel.”

Voices echo from the kitchen and Jughead turns his gaze back to the ceiling, heart pounding, blood boiling and his voice sounds strangely distant in his ears as he mutters,

“Sure Betts. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you!” Betty cries, squealing in a way that Jughead should find adorable. The sounds of footsteps echo against the wooden floor and the next instant all the air is sucked from Jughead’s lungs.

“What are we thanking someone for?”

Veronica’s cheerful voice, words buzzing in his head, washing over his skin. Betty’s answer is inaudible, hidden under the sounds of Jughead’s breath, sharp and jagged in his ears, and the thump, thump, thump of his heart. Closing his eyes as tightly as he can and then her voice, cutting through it all, diving headfirst into Jughead’s bloodstream.

“I see. Well, now that you’ve sorted that out; your mom wants to know if your boyfriend is staying to eat with us.”

 _Your boyfriend._ That had been Veronica’s name for him since Jughead had pinned her against the back of the Pembrooke, if she even acknowledged him in the first place. Not that Veronica was alone in that, Jughead had been ignoring her as well as he could too, he just had the advantage of habitual rudeness on his side.

“Juggie, my mom wants to know if-“

“I heard Betty. And no, I’m not.”

Standing, ignoring how the green irises widen, and swallowing hard, because Veronica is standing much closer to him then he’d originally thought. She twirls away from him, practically dashing back to the kitchen and Jughead follows her example, turning to face Betty and flashing her a small smile to heal the impending breach.

“I’d stay but my dad was supposed to get back today and besides, I have to change right?”

“Right, but Jug…” she hesitates, face conflicted, evidently changing her mind about whatever she was going to originally say.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. I’ll see you there okay?”

His dad’s motorcycle isn’t parked next to the trailer when Jughead gets home, but there is a sticky note stuck to Jughead’s laptop screen, covered in his dad’s slanted handwriting saying he was home, but had had to go to the White Whyrm for some urgent Serpent meeting.

Honestly, Jughead should have been going to the meeting as well, like the legacy Serpent he was, but contrary to what Betty seemed to believe, Jughead hadn’t been as involved with them since Veronica’s father had left town.

And maybe that was caused by the Serpents, (and by extension Jughead’s dad,) not being under constant threat, or maybe his writing was taking up too much of his time, or maybe the long nights filled with big brown eyes and ebony curls were just too all consuming for Jughead to focus on anything else.

Whatever it was, it was undeniable, and so instead of hopping onto his bike and heading to the White Whyrm, Jughead chose to go over his math homework, swallowing down a meal of guilt, with a side of reheated pizza.

* * *

 

Cheryl’s parties were usually as erratic as she was, but there were three things that they could always be depended on to be; loud, alcohol soaked, and practically a train wreck by the time people went home.

“Hobo.”

“Cheryl.” Jughead responds, tone bland as he turns to face the redhead who’d cornered him in the kitchen.

“As little as I care for your presence, Jughead; hiding in the kitchen by the refreshments does not a festive mood make.”

She flicks her curls over her shoulder, red strands flashing underneath fluorescent lighting and rolls her eyes like she can’t believe that she’s even speaking to him, but Jughead recognizes the tense setting of her jaw, he’d seen it often enough with Jason.

Kind Jason, who had always made a point of heading out of the locker room early, just so he could tell Jughead to vacate the bleachers before the rest of the team caught sight of him. Generous Jason, who at the end of freshman year had sold Jughead an old laptop at a severely discounted price, because Jason had heard one of Jughead’s short stories read aloud in English class and thought that he should have one.

Kind Jason. Generous Jason.

Dead Jason.

“Sitting by the only un-spiked punch bowl and stuffing my face with your unlimited stash of corn chips is as festive as I know how to be Cheryl, sorry.”

Crimson lips curl in distaste at his words and she sighs again, fingers reaching out and in-circling Jughead’s wrist, pulling him from the metal bar stool that he’s sitting on.

“I am well aware of your lack of imagination when it comes to social interaction Jughead, which is why I, in a rare, but not unheard of, burst of generous spirt, have come to rescue you from the tender embrace of Ethel Muggs and corn induced heartburn. Besides, Cousin Cooper was whining about you not being here yet.”

She drags him from the kitchen, down the stairs leading to the basement, where Jughead can only assume the rest of his social circle had disappeared down long before his arrival. Long, stiletto shaped nails dig into his skin. They’re painted blood red, matching everything else she’s wearing. Bright red, it hurts his eyes, blinding.

 _She’s just one giant red flag._ Jughead muses to himself, biting back the laugh that he knows would not go unpunished.

The pounding dance music playing upstairs fades away, replaced with lazy electric guitar and droning vocals that sound like they’re meant to be played at three in the morning while you dance with someone you love, movements illuminated by a refrigerator’s pale light.

Betty smiles towards them from where she’s sitting on a loveseat with Archie at her feet, the back of his head resting against her knee. The space beside her is empty so Jughead moves towards her, only to be pulled back with Cheryl’s vice-like grip, thrown onto the couch across, forcing him to squeeze into the small space in-between the armrest and Veronica.

“Cheryl, what the hell!” Exclaims Betty, brow furrowed.

Her tone has a bite to it, and glancing from her face, to Archie’s, and back again, Jughead rapidly comes to the conclusion that his friends had been sampling some of Reggie’s more ‘experimental’ concoctions before his arrival.

“You have my deepest apologies Cousin Cooper, but I know if I let the hobo sit next to you, all you'll do for the rest of the night is talk to one another, and frankly, I had something more exciting then a night of polite chit-chat in mind, no offense.” kicking her heel against Archie’s leg as she passed him, “Wake up and sit on the loveseat Archibald, we’re going to play a game.”

“What are you trying to pull, Cheryl?” Veronica asks, her voice surprisingly even-tempered, considering how she’d flinched when he’d sat next to her.

“The only thing I’m ‘pulling,’ Veronica, is some fun and excitement out of you people.”

“Retract those claws, kittens,” Reggie laughs, head tossed back and arms flung over the back of the couch. “Cheryl isn’t out to get you, or anyone else tonight Ronnie, so just chill.”

Glaring eyes and tense jaws last for few moments more, before Cheryl rolls her eyes and turns away surrendering to Veronica’s unflinching stare and Josie is the first to break through the awkward silence.

“So what is the game then, Cheryl? It’s not Seven Minutes In Heaven again is it?”

Jughead’s insides flinch at the mention of the infamous game and in the corner of his eye he sees as Veronica’s eyes drop to where her hands lay, impossible twisted, in her lap. He doesn’t choose to catch Betty or Archie’s reactions, but Jughead doesn’t doubt that they both look as awkward as he know Veronica feels.

“Don’t be ridicules Josie.” Cheryl answers, letting out a sound that sounds more like a scoff then a laugh. “Seven Minutes, and or, Spin the Bottle, are far to unpredictable in outcome, and I’m in the mood for something a little more…controlled.”

“And what would that be?”

Betty’s voice clings to the dusty air and looking at her, Jughead sees the light of excitement glowing in her eyes.

“Why Truth or Dare of course! Only the most tried and true of party names are acceptable to Cheryl Blossom.”

A collective groan slides through the room, but since no-one actually refuses to play, Cheryl just gives the entire room stink eye and lays out the rules. She crowns herself game master to the shock and bewilderment of absolutely no-one, and so with an empty bottle in hand, or more accurately, on the coffee table, the game begins, with Josie as its first victim.

“Alright Josie, truth or dare?”

“Well…I don’t know. Truth I guess?”

“Okay…Which guy here would you say was the least attractive?”

All eyes turn to Josie and she shrinks into herself, eyes wide as she answers timidly,

“Um…I…guess that I would have to say…Jughead? Not that I’m saying you’re ugly Jughead!” she hurries to reassure him, only to be cut off by everyone else’s laughter and Cheryl’s sharp voice that flies above them all.

“Well since we’re all in agreement about that, with the exception of Betty, of course, let’s move on. You can spin the bottle Josie.”

Green glass whirls against the table, making it Reggie’s turn, then Archie’s, and then Betty’s. All three choose truth, one after the other and by the time Betty has finished admitting that she would not, in fact, date someone who was shorter then her, Cheryl is rolling her eyes.

Blushing and giggling, Betty leans forward, gentle twisting the bottle. It sweeps in a tight circle, past Archie, Josie, Reggie, and Veronica, finally coming to a stop in front of him. He feels, rather then sees, Veronica relax, and her sigh of relief sounds far too noisy in his ears.

“Looks like you’re up Jughead. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Well, well, well!” Cheryl hums, doing her best to look uninterested, but straightening in pleasure all the same. “It looks like our resident gang member is the first one brave enough to take on the challenge. How should I make use of this?”

“Dare him to kiss you!” Reggie jokes, sliding his arm around Veronica’s exposed shoulders.

“Just because _you_ have the IQ and the maturity level of a third grader Reggie,” rolling her eyes, lashes fluttering “doesn’t mean that the rest of us aren’t above such things.”

“Oh my word Cheryl, can you just give it a rest already?”

Veronica’s tone is frustrated, and leaning forward, shrugging Reggie’s arm off impatiently, her dark eyes spark with the ice she once claimed to be at one with.

“We get it, you’re pissed that Reggie got a higher grade then you on the last algebra test, but that doesn’t give you the right to act like an immature brat. Grow up and get over it!”

Archie’s snore sputters in and out. Betty’s eyes, bright green and wide over the lip of the unmarked glass she’s been siping from all night. Reggie whistles softly into the air, formed air covering the sound of Josie’s steps as she slides out of the room. Cheryl’s playlist ends, leaving the room silent and Cheryl’s eyes narrow into slits while Veronica’s words hang like a dead weight in the dusty space.

“Veronica, there’s no need to get so upset. Reggie and I are friends; he knows that I was just teasing; don’t you Reggie.”

“Well in my experience that’s not how you treat your friends, but by all means, continue.”

Her voice sets a chill down Jughead’s spine and as the back of the couch once again compresses under her weight, her stare is frigid enough to make even Cheryl hesitate and slowly swallow before continuing with a nasty smile.

“Well Jughead, it seems the fates have spoken and your dare has been decided upon.”

“And?”

“And, for tonight’s dare, you shall be kissing…Veronica.”

Simple words, dropped like a bomb into the room and setting off a series of reactions that; in other circumstances, mainly ones that concerned him but not at all; Jughead would have found humorous, or at least entertaining. Reggie chokes on his drink, stinging liquid streaming from his nose, Betty’s open-mouthed gape is the perfect opposite to Cheryl’s sophisticated smirk, and beside him, completely still, sits Veronica.

She holds her expression, her mask, together tightly, stare cutting against Cheryl’s pale face. There are storm clouds in her eyes and Jughead thinks when people look back on this night they will say that they’d never seen Veronica Lodge, New York City’s former ice queen so furious. But her fingers are shaking and rising to her collar bone, reaching to cling to the safety net that no linger exists, and that is when Jughead understands, for the very first time, that fear can look like anger too.

“Sorry Cheryl, but last time I checked I was in a relationship.”

“I know you are. Why else do you think I told you to kiss the person you like the least?”

_Blatant falsehoods there; he can’t imagine there being anyone he could prefer to Veronica, and as far as the dare is concerned; he knows that in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t even have anything to do with him, not really._

The thought flies through his head and Jughead has to resist the urge to laugh; tries to listen to Cheryl, who has continued speaking.

“Besides, it’s just a stupid dare. It wouldn’t mean anything, and Betty knows that, don’t you Betty?”

“Well I…I guess…I mean since it’s just a dare; it’s not like it would even mean anything…”

Her voice trails off, weak and wondering. Archie’s red hair presses against her shoulder, blood on cotton candy, eyes firmly closed, and Betty’s fingers curl around his useless ones, seeking an anchor.

“See Jughead, your girlfriend is fine so get on with it.”

“Excuse me; don’t I get to have a say in this?”

Dark lashes tangling together, her hands pressed into the threadbare fabric of Cheryl’s couch, his teeth sharp and vicious against his tongue, fingers twitching, fighting the restraint that holds him back from her.

“What’s the big deal Veronica? It’s just a dare, Betty says she’s fine with it and it’s not like you’re dating anyone.”

“The big deal, Cheryl, is that I’m not going to do this.”

“It’s okay V. It’s only a dare and I’m fine with it, really!”

Betty’s voice slurs, and beside him Veronica rises to her feet, expression impossible to read.

“I don’t care if it’s ‘just a dare’ Betty, I’m not going to do it.”

“Why not? If you’re worried about me being mad in the morning, don’t be. I promise that I don’t; that I w _on’t_ care.”

“Yeah, but until when?” Veronica mutters, stare dropping to the floor.

The silence is deafening in his ears, Reggie gets up and leaves, and Jughead is almost ready to believe that he was the only one who caught what she’d said when Betty says,

“What did you just say?”

Holding his breath, expecting Veronica to change her words, to lie, to do anything other then do what she does do. The dark head of hair lifts, exposing her face, and when she speaks there’s no lack of clarity in her words.

“I said, until when will you be fine with it?”

Blonde ponytail quivering, Betty stands, eyes wide and glassy with liquor and horror. Her face reads like a trauma victim, and any other time Jughead would be certain that Veronica would take one look at that face and give up.

She doesn’t.

“Tell me when Betty, honestly. Will it be when you’ve had a bad day at cheer practice and need someone to vent on? Or will it be to gain sympathy points from Kevin next time that you two get into a fight? Or maybe you’ll wait until Jughead screws up somehow in your head and I accidentally don’t side with you enough, or defend him too much. Or maybe you’ll hurt me and to avoid having to apologize you’ll pull tonight out so I’ll end up being the one to apologize to you!”

“How could you even accuse me of something like that! I’ve never done something like that to you ever!” Betty cries, cutting Veronica off and rising so she can meet her eye to eye.

“Because, Betty, that’s what you do. It’s who you are and who’ll you’ll always be when it comes to me, because normally I’ll bend over backwards and take it, but not this time, not tonight.”

Her final words choke her on the way out, Jughead can hear them in his soul, and swallowing thickly, Veronica turns on her heel, flying past him out of the room. Jughead’s instinct is to follow her, but Betty collapses back down onto the loveseat with a whimper, and less then half a second later her sobs are grating into his ears.

Jughead hesitates and a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Veronica, whispers into his ear,

_Go to her. Make her safe, make her happy, and then come to me._

So with a sigh and stinging heart, Jughead crosses the room, lowering to his knees to be eye level with her.

“Betty…”

“I just don’t understand! It’s just a stupid dare and…How could she say something like that?!”

“Betty! I need you to listen to me okay?” prying her hands from her face, forcing her to focus on him. “How did you get here?”

“I…My mom dropped us off. Veronica and I were going to have a sleepover at her house and…” her eyes widen and the waterworks begin again.

“Juggie I can’t go home! My mom would kill me if she knew that I’d been drinking! And Veronica just left me…she’s always so selfish! Oh, what am I gonna do?!”

Rising to his feet, doing his best to ignore the jab, Jughead turns to the perpetrator of the disaster. Cheryl’s pretending to be busy on her phone, but even she’s not a good enough actress to keep the guilty look off her face.

“Cheryl, Betty’s staying here tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she can’t go home like this and it’s your fault that she doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“It’s not- Okay, so maybe I’m _slightly_ to blame, but I don’t see why that forces me to be her babysitter. You’re her boyfriend aren’t you? Why don’t you just take her back to your place?”

Cheryl’s tone makes it seem like he’s being completely ridicules, and Jughead has to shove his hands into his pockets to stop himself from forcibly shaking Cheryl by her pointy elbows until she can see sense.

“Oh right, because the only thing that Mrs. Cooper is going to be more thrilled about then her daughter getting crap-faced drunk, is her daughter getting crap-faced drunk and then going back to her boyfriend’s trailer to spend the night.”

Jughead can see Cheryl physically pause as she considers his words, can almost see the old saying of, ‘an enemy of my enemy is my friend’ coming to life before his eyes.

“I guess I see your point, however rudely it was made. Fine, Cousin Cooper can stay the night but if she vomits in my bed tomorrow morning you will be paying for damages.”

“You have my most solemn word.” He promises, sparing Betty, who is still in tears and draped dramatically over a now awake Archie’s shoulder, dripping black, a backwards glance as he leaves the room, heart heavy with the knowledge that the night’s work is far from over.

He finds her.

The sounds of frogs and crickets chase him, his shoulders scream for the missing, warm presence of the Southside around them, and it’s definitely closer to sunup then sundown.

But he finds her.

All the surrounding buildings are dark, and where Veronica’s sitting on the steps is too far from the Pembrooke’s entry light for it’s glow to be of any use in dispelling the gloom and shadows that surround her. Moonlight bounces off her rounded shoulders and her bare legs shake from the cold air, covered in goosebumps.

“Princess.”

She cranes her neck to look up at him and wiping at her cheeks, forces her face into a half-hearted smile.

“Why Jughead, how ever did you find my ‘oh so secret’ hiding spot.”

He sits down next to her, wanting to sigh, but he snorts instead because two can play at this game.

“Oh, you know. Just a small batch of math equations and scientific theory. Although my calculations told me that you would be inside the building, not in front of it.”

“Well your calculations probably forgot to factor in the fact that my mom’s new batch of sleeping pills won’t get here for another few days.”

“Still, you shouldn’t be sitting out in the cold.” Jughead reprimands her, tugging flannel from his shoulders and wrapping it around her tiny frame, like she’s a child that doesn’t know any better, like she’s a young Jellybean during late nights at the drive in, like she’s isn’t a war torn soul, bruised and bloody, exhausted from traveling through hell and back again.

The amount of fabric is frankly excessive, drowning her body of any shape. But the black of her hair against the collar of his shirt is twisting something deep inside him, dark and hungry and thoroughly animalistic; and the way her nails dig into it’s threadbare fabric makes her look younger somehow, reminds Jughead that they’re only eighteen.

_Who knew that eighteen would feel so close to forty-five._

“Where’s Betty?” she murmurs, head hung in unnecessary shame.

“Still at Cheryl’s. She couldn’t go home, not that drunk anyway.” he pauses, eyes on her and teases, “Would’ve thought that you’d made sure she stayed on the right side Princess.”

“I tried!” Veronica hisses through clenched teeth, turning to him, stare deadly. “I tried to tell her to stop but she wouldn’t listen. Archie was already six sheets by the time we got there, and you,” finger pointed, pressed against his chest, right above his heart, “you were late! You left me to handle both of them all by myself, you prick!”

Her words break off and she twists away from him, tears returning to her eyes. Her hand starts to drift away, but Jughead catches it in his own, pads of his fingertips running lazily over her pulse. It flutters like a hummingbird’s wings and he has to remind himself why he’d come to her in the first place.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Jughead, I just…Betty is going to hate me now, isn’t she.”

 _Signs of eighteen again,_ Jughead thinks to himself, shaking his head.

“She’s not going to hate you. She’ll ice you out for this weekend and nurse her hangover, but then Monday morning will come and she’ll guilt you into apologizing by her locker and she’ll make a big show of forgiving you, even though she wasn’t ever really mad, just hurt and confused.”

Veronica shudders at his words, cool wind twisting through her hair, pulling it across her cheek like she’s the lead character in some high budget, pathetic, indie movie that girls like Betty love to say they ‘relate to’ even though they don’t.

“Why confused?”

“Because out of all the people in Riverdale, you would be the last person to refuse a dare. But then again, following Cheryl’s whims hasn’t ever really been your cup of tea.”

Extra air pushes through Veronica’s nostrils at his words, but she doesn’t look at him and Jughead can feel the insincerities of eighteen crawling over his tongue even before the words have formed in his mind.

“But maybe I’m the one who’s wrong. Maybe…maybe you just don’t want to kiss me.”

The words are near silent, barely formed against the air, but they produce an effect all the same. Veronica whirls around to face him, dark curls swooshing in the air, eyes burning into his face.

“Of course I want to kiss you, you idiot! I want to kiss you so much it’s killing me! You’re sitting next to me right now and my hands won’t stop shaking; I can barely look you in the face because it feels like if I do I just might stop being able to breathe!”

Blood pounding in his ears, panic and desperation flooding her face as she continues.

“But I can’t kiss you, I’m not supposed to and it hurts, it hurts so, so badly all the time; to force myself to be better, to try harder. It hurts, and I’m so tired of trying to be perfect all the time…”

Veronica trails off, fresh tears gathering and Jughead hears his voice, quiet and husky in the early-morning air.

“Then let’s stop trying.”

Years later, Jughead is still not sure who it was that leaned in first, but that someone did is unescapable fact.

It’s not a pleasant kiss, like the ones he’s shared with Betty, filled with soft breaths and gentle movements. It’s rough and angry, with Veronica’s fingers forcing his beanie off his head as they tear through his hair, and his hands pulling her body against his with so much strength Jughead wouldn’t be shocked to hear that he’d left bruises. Teeth clash together, cinnamon colored lipstick stains his mouth, marking him for the sinner that he was, and the only cohesive thought he has is that she tastes like the saltwater from her tears. He presses angry kisses along her jaw, her sighs of relief flowing into his bloodstream and Jughead hates how it feels so right.

Headlights flash and they break apart, both brown and blue eyes filled with darkness as they watch the car’s out-of-state license plate disappear into the gloom. Its glare reminds them where they are; what they’re doing and who with and Veronica won’t look at him as she rises unsteadily to her feet.

“Princess…” He whispers, because it’s not enough, won’t ever be enough and he can’t lose her now.

“Go home Jughead.”

Her voice burns him and she must notice because when she speaks again it’s noticeable more gentle.

“I’m fine Jug, we’ll talk about this later, I promise so just…Go home.”

Veronica leaves him on the steps, his flannel still wrapped around her and he stares after her as long as he can, like the lovesick fool he is, with her cinnamon colored lipstick still smeared across his face.

 _We’re lost now,_ he thinks, _well and truly lost, for the rest of our lives._


	5. You Grew Me Secret Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Veronica and Jughead interaction in this chapter, but a hazy plot is forming :) Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy this chapter!

 

Saturday had passed in a blur. She had slept in till noon and spent the rest of the day deep cleaning her closet with her phone locked down, only checking it before bed to see if Betty had contacted her. She hadn’t, and Veronica hadn’t had the strength of mind to make the first move.

It was late into the afternoon on Sunday and with her mom having been called into an emergency meeting at the mayor’s office, Veronica was defiantly out of distractions.

Rain trickled against the window, cold moisture creating a refreshing chill on the glass Veronica was leaning her forehead against, and the music she had started in an attempt to cover up the bellowing silence had long since strayed into the category of unrecognizable.

Drops endlessly falling, landing on the glass and cascading down, chasing their counterparts only to be swallowed up by a bigger drop, which began a race of it’s own. On and on, cycle never-ending, till the end of the world.

Or at least the end of the rainstorm.

Her lips ached, at least that was the only word Veronica could think of to describe it. Jughead probably knew of more that would be more fitting. She briefly imagines that he’s in the room with her, laptop open in front of him, beanie discarded next to him on the floor, eye’s sparking darkness as he’s looking at her. But then a boom of thunder rolls through the sky, shaking Veronica out of her fantasy and causing her to jump back from the window, arms tightening around herself instinctively, and she has to remind herself once again that she shouldn’t want him there.

 _But you do, don’t you, you little liar._

Her mind mocks her, and Veronica squeezes her eyes closed tightly, shaking her head, only to open them wide the next second.

Because closed eyes refreshed memories, memories of Jughead, memories of surprising powerful lips that pressed onto her’s and fingers she could still feel, digging into her, dragging across her skin.

The old Veronica’s reaction to the kiss would’ve been one of pure selfishness. The kiss had been good, and lips like that should be kissed, even if they happened to be attached to someone who was unavailable. But the new Veronica, the better Veronica, knew that on the list of things that were not there for the taking, your best friend’s boyfriend’s lips were fairly high up there.

But the kiss had already happened, it couldn’t be taken back and if Veronica was being honest, she wasn’t completely sure that she would take it back even if she could. Acknowledging that, however, didn’t mean she didn’t feel completely, gut-wrenchingly, guilty about it. Betty deserved a much better friend then her, someone who wouldn’t blow up at her during what was supposed to be a fun party or kiss her boyfriend after said party. She deserved better then her.

_Doesn’t everyone?_

The thought shakes Veronica to her core, not because she hasn’t thought it before, it’s just…always so sickeningly accurate. And Veronica hates it, hates knowing that she’s the bringer of pain and destruction to everyone she loves, or at least thinks she loves.

More rain against the window, sky darkening, and Veronica wishes that it would stop; the rain, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living-room, echoing far too loudly through her bedroom door, the thoughts repeating themselves over and over until they drive her to madness, that or to Jughead.

Oh, how she wishes he was with her, voice gently mocking her, arms wrapped around her, telling her that it’s okay that she’s not.

“Veronica?”

Rising to her feet, head spinning, and she can’t place the voice till she hears it again, closer to her door and clearer.

“Veronica, it’s me, it’s Betty.”

Veronica’s hands shake and she opens the door, revealing a somewhat damp looking Betty, who looks down at her with big, green, chillingly innocent eyes.

“Hey…”

“Hi. I’m sorry that I didn’t knock, Smithers tried to buzz you but I think that your powers out or something, so he said that I should just come up.”

“Oh that’s…I mean, it’s fine. We had some wiring problems and…they’re supposed to be coming to fix it tomorrow sometime.”

Betty nods hesitantly and suddenly Veronica realizes that they’re still standing uncomfortably in the doorway.

“Anyway, come on in. Do you want something to drink or…?”

“No that’s fine.”

Blonde ponytail bouncing, Betty follows her into the room, dropping down to sit on the edge of Veronica’s bed. A strangled pause hovers over them and Veronica thinks to herself that out of the few people she’s invited into her bedroom, Betty looks the most out of place, the most awkward.

Her fingers knead the white comforter, pale pink nail polish chipped in multiple places, and she sits primly, back ram-rod straight, her posture a stark contrast to Jughead’s sprawling body thrown backwards, dark curls flung across her pillows, feet dangling over the end of the bed, his dirty Dr. Martins hidden away in the corner.

Betty coughs, snapping Veronica back to the present moment, a moment where Jughead isn’t there and Betty’s waiting for an apology that Veronica has yet to give.

“Betty…about the other night;” clasping her hands together, feeling absurdly like a naughty child waiting to be chastised by her parent, “I just wanted to say how incredibly sorry I am for what I said and-”

“Veronica,” Betty interrupts and Veronica cringes internally at the foreign sound of her full name on Betty lips.

“I’m not here for an apology. I mean, obviously what you said was hurtful and I have no idea what made you say it but…at the end of the day I don’t need to, not really. So let’s just say that I was drunk and stupid and you were stressed and on edge and leave it in the past as one of those high-school stories we’ll laugh over one day, wondering why we were so immature.”

The blonde’s cheerful tone is forced, but her expression is pleading and Veronica’s never been able to take a stand against that face, so stretching bare lips across teeth she smiles, stepping forward with outstretched arms, arms that Betty stands to meet halfway with her own.

“I’m so sorry Betty.”

“I know. It’s okay V.”

Betty’s words are quiet, spoken with a muffled gasp into Veronica’s hair, and that’s when Veronica realizes more is happening beneath the perfect girl-next-door’s facade then had previously met the eye.

“Not that I’m not thankful for this speedy forgiveness, but I’m getting the sense that something else is going on. Am I right?”

Nodding, Betty pulls back, eyes already filling with tears.

“Yes, I…I was so angry with you but…at the moment I know that I need your friendship more then some sort of feud.”

“Why? What happened?” Pulling Betty back over to the bed, eyes scanning her face.

“I’m…Well the thing is that…I’m thinking about…” Her words trail off, too hushed for Veronica to understand them.

“What did you say?”

“I said that…I’m thinking about breaking up with Jughead…”

Tears overflow at the forming of Jughead’s name and then Betty is crumbling into her, forehead pressed forcibly into Veronica collarbone, hands desperately clawing at Veronica’s, searching for security that Veronica’s not sure she can give.

“B, I…I don’t understand.”

And she doesn’t, not a single bit. Sure, Betty had been more and more incessant about Jughead lately, had whined about what he was or wasn’t doing, had even dropped hints about the relationship not lasting, but the impression she’d always given was that she expected _Jughead_ to end things. Betty was, had always been, a rock of loyalty when it can to Jughead and to the pair’s relationship.

“I just don’t think that I can do it anymore V. He’s changed so much; he’s not who he was before and I’m so sick of being the only one who is fighting for us! I’m so sick of it all and…Ijust think that I deserve better then someone who…someone who doesn’t give me what I need.”

Sobs overtake her once again, Veronica’s hopefully calming whispers fill the air, her fingers lifting up to stroke over blonde hair, Betty’s words replaying over and over.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

“What do you think I should do V?”

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

Teeth biting down hard, the metallic taste of blood rolling like a flash flood over Veronica’s tongue. Split lip, split relationship, split self respect.

“V?”

Betty’s voice, filled with a faint wondering, Veronica’s head pounding, heart breaking.

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

“Betty I…I don’t what to say…”

In too deep; drowning, Betty’s hands wrapping around her waist, strangling her without touching her neck and she wishes Betty was gone; was anywhere in the world; was anywhere but here.

_My fault, my fault, my fault…_

“Why not V?”

An excellent question, one she knows she can’t answer. Eyes squeezed shut, Jughead’s flannel hidden in her dresser drawer, the noose that’s ready to murder the last of her light. Jury, Judge, Executioner. Veronica Lodge, killed by greed at age eighteen, who will morn her?

_Nobody, and nobody should._

“I just…I don’t think that I should be telling you what you should do. It’s your relationship Betty, it’s your life, and I can’t, in good conscious, give you advice about what to do with it.”

“But you’re not against me doing it?”

“I just want you to be happy, B. That’s all I’ve ever wanted since I met you.”

A safe answer that, completely true, and yet completely non-committal. The negotiation skills of the mob boss’s daughter.

_‘A smart move Mija. I’m very proud of you.’_

“I know that V and…I don’t think that being with Jughead is making me happy anymore. It’s more of the opposite really. He used to but…something’s changed and he doesn’t anymore. Sometimes I don’t even think that Jughead even wants to make me happy.”

_My fault, my fault, my fault…_

“Why…What makes you say that?”

Betty shrugs, her wet tears soaking through the collar of Veronica’s top.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just how he looks at me sometimes; it’s like he’s seeing me as one of his characters, one that he’s written and rewritten so many times that he’s sick of them, but he can’t get rid of them ‘cause he’s devoted too much time to building them up to what they are. Sort of melancholy and regretful, you know?”

Veronica does know, has known it for months now. But Betty can’t know that, so she just hums reassuringly, reaffirming her support to Betty, even while she can feel the last cracked remnants of her self respect crumbling, dissolve away into nothingness beneath her feet.

_My fault, my fault, my fault…_

“What was it exactly that brought this whole thing to a head B?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for awhile I guess, but the fact that he just left me at Cheryl’s and made me contact him first the morning after just made me realize that I had to stop wussing out and just face him like an adult.”

Betty’s tears have slowed considerably and her voice is noticeably more calm and Veronica can’t help but wonder if it’s a good sign or not that she seems so relaxed all of a sudden.

“When are you going to talk to him?”

“I don’t know. We’re supposed to go on a date after school on Monday, so maybe I’ll do it then.”

Her head lifts, eyes pleading against Veronica’s cheek.

“V, how exactly do you go about breaking up with someone without making them hate you?”

“Betty, Jughead’s not going to hate you for breaking up with him, you know that he’s not that sort of person.”

Heavy sighs, and Betty swipes at the zig-zagging lines of black, smearing it across her face.

“I know he’s not, V. But I think that I might hate me a little bit.”

Leaning back down onto Veronica’s shoulder, sighing again as they both stare at the falling rain and Betty whispers,

“Is it okay if we just sit like this for a little while?”

It’s not really, Veronica wants her gone, wants to be alone so she can think and cry and hide under her covers until she can fall asleep. Lightening flashes and Betty’s grip on her tightens again.

“Of course it is B. Whatever you want.”

_My fault._


	6. But They All Smell Like Deceit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F.P finally is making an appearance; heres to hopping that he's not too ooc!!! Thanks for reading this chapter and let me know what you thought! <3

 

Jughead’s always liked Pops in the rain. Neon lights glowing off standing water, washing out the colors that usually prevailed. Pop would start up the jukebox when it rained, and even though the time of Jughead spending the night at Pops was hopefully forever in the past, he couldn’t help smile at the sound of it’s familiar tunes.

“What can I do for you tonight Jughead?” Pop asks, shaking Jughead from his revery.

“I’ll take two burgers, one chocolate milkshake, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings to go.”

Pop nods, scratching out the last of Jughead’s order on his notepad. His pen is running dry, but Pop Tate was famous for using his pens until he couldn’t, a rather endearing trait Jughead’s always thought.

“All this for just you?”

“Not this time Pop. It’s for my dad and I; we were supposed to be staying in tonight but we’ve been sandbagging all day at the White Whyrm and there’s nothing better then comfort food after a long day.”

“I heard that they’d been having some trouble. It’s dangerous, being that close to Sweetwater River.” Pop sighs, straightening. “Well, I’ll go get started on your order.”

“Thanks Pop.”

Behind him the door opens, cold air twisting around his ankles and turning, Jughead finds himself eye to eye with Archie.

_Crap on a pointy stick._

“Hey Jughead!”

“Hey Arch,” Wincing and stepping back to avoid the drops of water flying from Archie’s head into the air.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Vegas, man.”

Jughead cringes at his own tone, which sounds far to superior and egotistical, but Archie just grins at him good naturally, too used to Jughead’s moods to be offended.

“Probably, but it’s just so fun!” eyes dropping down to Jughead’s pants which are soaked and sticking to his leg from the knee down. “You been jumping into some puddles?”

“Nah, my dad and I were having to do some sandbagging at the Whyrm ‘cause of the flooding.”

“Oh man! You should’ve called my dad and I, we didn’t have anything going on, we could’ve helped! Evenin’ Pop.”

“Evening Archie. Here you go Jug.” Tapping Jughead’s shoulder and sliding his takeaway bag across the counter to him. Jughead reaches for his wallet in his back pocket but Pop just raises a hand, stopping him.

“No charge today. Veronica said that your next meal was on her.”

Jughead feels his heart stilling at the sound of her name; wishes he could ask when this decision was made, but he can see Archie’s eyes on him, the redhead’s brow wrinkled in confusion and wondering.

So instead of asking, or pulling out his phone to ask Veronica herself, he just tightens his expression and gives Pop a small nod of understanding before brushing past Archie with a hurried farewell; flinging himself onto his motorcycle once he’s reached it in the parking lot, thankful for the roar of it’s engine that covers what he imagines he can hear of Archie’s yelled question.

(But looking over his shoulder as he drives away, Jughead doesn’t see Archie at all, so maybe it was just his guilty conscience.)

Through the rain, over the railroad tracks, pavement turning to mud, and then he’s home, cradling their takeout in one hand and his helmet in the other. The door is unlocked and the walls shake as he bursts through it, hair plastered to his face, water beading up against the dark leather of the Southside. His dad, who’s sitting in the living room when he comes in, doesn’t look up and that should seem strange; should alert Jughead to the fact that something is wrong. But Jughead’s hungry and tired and so it doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you would want onion rings or fries, so I took a chance and went with onion rings.”

Not looking back, unpacking the food, not noticing his dad rise to his feet and walk towards him.

“Boy, what the hell kinda game are you playing?”

Jughead should know that voice, the quiet voice of the Serpent King. But for a writer he sure is pretty oblivious to the obvious.

“If you want the fries that much, you can just have them. Really, I’m fine with eating whatever.” He jokes, still rummaging for his burger. But then his dad’s fist bangs against the counter and the hunger in his stomach is changed out with a far less manageable feeling, and Jughead turns to meet his dad’s eye.

“I know that I wasn’t a great father figure for you; hell, I wasn’t even a decent one when the chips are thrown down, and I know that you didn’t ever have a mother to teach you right from wrong, but damnit boy, I thought; I always trusted the fact that you had enough morals to do the right thing.”

“Dad I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His father’s face tightens, lines of stress and age sharpening around his eyes.

“I went on your computer to email your sister, the word document for your story was open and I read a bit. It’s good; well written and all that, although I do have to say that I never realized how many compliments and similes for black hair and dark eyes there were in the ‘true crime’ genre.”

How could Jughead describe his dad’s words; heart-stopping maybe, or simply horrific. The floor heaves repeatedly under his feet, matching the pace set by his stomach, and Jughead feels himself collapse into the nearest chair, mouth slack, blood draining from his face.

Evidently this is the conformation his dad needed, and Jughead watches silently as his dad’s face falls in on itself, disappointment seeping from its every pore; the knuckles on his right hand flashing white against the counter-top.

“I expected for you to pull a lot of stupid crap in high school, I’d be an idiot if I hadn’t, but I never thought that I’d have to live to see the day that you cheated on your girlfriend. And with her best friend, no less!”

Cold, brutal words, rain falling loudly, thunderingly even, against the trailer’s metal roof. Jughead’s dropped his stare to his boots, desperately begging for this to be a dream; a nightmare that he’ll wake from. But then his dad starts talking again and he knows this is real.

“You have a sweet-hearted, _angel_ of a girlfriend who loves you, because she does love you, no matter what pathetic excuse you’ve made up to say that she doesn’t, despite the trailer park living, and the absentee mom, and the gang leading, former alcoholic of a father. That girl loves you with every bone in her body, and you threw that love to the side for some tight skirts and a pair of pouty lips.”

Hard, biting honesty, and Jughead knows that he deserves every stinging syllable. But the reduction of Veronica to the purely physical burns like acid in his chest. He deserves the sound of his father’s derision, but Veronica, who had fought; who was still fighting against any sort of connection; didn’t.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Why not?”

His dad’s voice is taunting and Jughead meets his angry stare with one of his own.

“Because…You don’t get to make a judgement call about her based on what you read when you invaded my privacy!”

“Oh, we’re mighty protective, aren’t we? Let me guess, next you’re gonna try tell me that you’re ‘in love’ with her.”

Jughead can’t; won’t answer that, not when he hasn’t even told her, and in his silence, his dad once again finds his answer. He lets out a long whistle, loud and shrill in Jughead’s ears, then mutters,

“I swear, this town went to hell the second that those damn Lodges crawled back into it.”

The statement sets Jughead’s blood aflame, but he does his best to ignore it, instead asking,

“Did you delete it?”

“What?”

“My novel, on my computer, did you delete it?”

His dad’s eyes widen and his voice betrays shock as he answers, “No, of course I didn’t. Don’t be an idiot, Jughead.”

This information is all Jughead needs to finalize his, admittedly, hastily formed decision, and standing, with tired legs and fists that would much rather be swinging then hanging limply by his sides; stalks passed his dad into the living room, snatching his laptop up as he passes it, before going to his bedroom to grab the backpack that he always has packed, ready and waiting should he need it.

“We aren’t done talking about this, boy!” his dad calls, but Jughead ignores his voice, instead focusing on stuffing his laptop and extra toothbrush into his bag, then zipping it closed and pulling it onto his shoulders, before walking back to the front door, keys in hand.

“Boy, where the hell do you think you’re going in a storm this late at night?!”

Jughead can recognize the faint trace of fear and worry in his father’s tone, and it should be enough to make him turn around an go to bed without another word. But the anger is boiling dangerously close to the surface of his skin and ever bad instinct is screaming at him to fight back, to scream and wail, to punch and scratch; fighting tooth and nail for the honor of a girl that is his in everything but name. So instead he opens the door, griping the handle like death, and mutters,

“Anywhere but here, with anyone but you.”

* * *

Eleven-thirty, and Pops’ is still open, because it’s always open for some reason. True, he’s the only customer there and Pop is the only one who’s still working, because apparently he’s some sort of vampire who feeds of the satisfied smiles of his customers instead of sleep. That’s what twelve year old Jughead had believed anyway.

It’s still raining; Jughead had been been completely soaked on the way over, so now his clothes are sticking to him in a distinctly uncomfortable way. Poking at his beanie that’s drying out on the table, watching as a pool of water escapes the drenched wool, forced to by the pressure of his fingers.

More rain, song on the jukebox switching, and maybe he shouldn’t have asked Veronica to come, but he misses her too much not to. Because he wants her; needs her. Oxygen in his lungs, blood in his veins. Jughead wants her eyes on him; wants her lips against his. A selfish, base, purely human thought, but Jughead doesn’t see the point of trying to lie to himself.

The bell rings, and jerking his head upwards, he’s eye to eye with her and the tightness in his chest dissolves, leaving him with a sense of world shattering relief.

“Hey Princess.” he breathes, watching as she settles down across the booth from him.

Veronica smiles at him, but it’s a glass smile, and her eyes have the same haunted look that they’d had on that first night; the night when pearls had been replaced with white powder and Veronica’s tears had shone like diamonds against Jughead’s fingers.

“What’s going on, Jughead? What did you need to talk to me about?”

Her voice sounds defeated, like she already knows what Jughead’s going to say and she isn’t happy about it. But there’s no way she could know, so Jughead takes a deep breath, readying himself for the jump into the deep end, reaching across the table, holding her small hands in his.

“It’s my dad, he…He knows.”

Surprise is the first emotion to flash across her face, quickly wiped away by fear. Breath catches in her throat; Jughead sees it, watches it stick and hold, and her fingers fight against his, begging to lift to her neck. He doesn’t let them.

“What do you mean ‘he knows?’ Did you tell him?”

“No he…I’d been writing on my computer and I forgot to close the document and he read some of it.”

“I thought that you were joking when you told me that I was your main character.”

He laughs at that, because Veronica’s face is blushing pink and he can’t think of a color he loves on her more.

“Of course I wasn’t joking. I could never joke about you, Princess.”

“Liar.” She hisses at him, lips curled, and then, “What are you going to do?”

Her words bring the sense of gravity back to the situation and Jughead presses his leg against his backpack guiltily, thankful that it’s hidden away under the table; out of Veronica line of vision.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think that he’ll tell anyone, no matter how angry he is, but he’s definitely not pleased.”

“Does he think that it’s my fault? That I’m the temptress who led you to the dark?”

“You didn’t do that.”

“But that’s what he thinks. And it’s not _not_ true is it.”

Quiet words, and Veronica’s eyes drop; won’t look towards him.

“You know that’s not true. You’ve been fighting for the light since the minute that you got to this town; I was the one who’s been pulling you into the dark. Every time.”

Jughead needs her to believe him; needs her see that he’d been dancing with darkness from the moment he’d first seen her, yes, but darkness had been wooing him for years before he’d even known of her existence.

Pop’s humming flouts from the backroom and Veronica shakes her head, dark hair flowing right to left, and murmurs something to quietly for Jughead to hear.

“What did you say?”

Brown eyes lift to blue and the haunted look is back in her eyes.

“Nothing.”

He knows she’s lying, but everything, even the very air in Jughead’s lungs, suddenly feels sharp and fragile, like with one wrong word or move and the entire world will collapse around him, pulling Veronica into it’s horrific destruction, never to be seen again.

“I just don’t know what to do Princess.” he sighs, and he feels resolve inside Veronica’s fingers as they wrap tighter around his.

“It’s okay that you don’t know Jug.”

“Why?”

“Because I do.”


	7. I Tried To Hit The Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gifted with a TON of inspiration, so you guys are getting an update two days after the last one lol. I needed some tissues with this one so theres that.  
> P.S. (I recommend listening to this) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XA0roN9S6c (song on a loop while reading, since I feel like it'll enhance everything; but if you aren't into that READ ON!)

 

 

“What do you mean, ‘I do’?” Jughead echos back at her weakly.

His face looks exhausted, his entire body slouched forwards. Veronica hates seeing him like this, it doesn’t suit him to be weak and tired, and usually she prefers him when he’s acting like a cocky jerk, the chip on his shoulder sharpened and calling for blood. Tonight though, weak is, for her at least, a good thing. Because he looks like he’s just run out of fight, and Veronica doesn’t think she could do what she needs to if he was still fighting.

“I mean that I know what to do to fix things with you’re dad. It’s a very simple solution really, I’m surprised you hadn’t thought of it before, Mr. Big-Shot Writer.”

Her voice quivers at the base of her throat and Veronica wonders if Jughead can hear it. It wouldn’t surprise her if he could, but she hopes he doesn’t. In the back of her mind she registers that the jukebox is droning on. Veronica hates it; hates the songs that play on a constant repeat, creating a sickeningly consistent soundtrack to her and Jughead’s twisted lives.

“I write so I don’t have to don’t have to think about reality Princess, you know that.”

Soft blue eyes all over her, soaking her in; sponge-like and it’s like he’s kissing her all over again. Darkness in his stare, yearning in his fingertips, he wants her. Her swallow sticks in her throat; a poisonous wad of saliva that leaves her stomach heaving; but she won’t back down now.

“Leaving your lack of real life experience aside for the moment,” another swallow, more poison and her mouth feels like cheep cotton. “in this situation there’s only one thing we can do.”

“And what is that.”

“Why, tell your dad that I broke it off of course.”

He snorts at that, his fingerprints pressed lazily against her skin, sealing themselves there, for better or for worse.

“Do I need to remind you that between the two of us, you’re the one who’s picked to be in school plays? I couldn’t act or lie my way out of a paper bag Princess, you know that.”

His voice lilts against her skin, clinging to it, and she watches him with hungry eyes. Because tonight is the last time she’ll see Jughead like this; happy and youthful, shining so brightly that it burns her eyes.

Veronica catches at the lines of his person; lines falling, one into another; watches the way the neon light dances over his features, silhouetting him. He almost looks angel-like; angelic, she thinks, then squeezes her eyes shut, sealing him, in this moment, inside her mind forever. Her own personal, heartbreaking, treasure.

_Your fault._

_My fault._

“I am well aware of that particular fact Jughead.” deep breath, she just wishes that the music would stop, and then, “Which is why you…won’t be lying.”

He tilts his head in confusion and Veronica avoids his eyes, watches as water drips from his curls, down onto the table.

“Yeah; no. I’m not really getting what you’re saying.”

“Come on Jug, don’t go thick on me now. After all, it’s not like we didn’t now that this was going to end at some point down the road. We just didn’t know that the point would be now.”

Her words sound hard in her ears; feel like bullets as they leave her lips behind them. Jughead’s sharp intake of breath cuts against her and she keeps her stare on one last droplet of water that’s shining in his hair, hovering in-between falling and standing still.

“Princess…” he whispers, and then, because she won’t look at him, “Veronica!”

She looks at him then; reads the desperation in his face; feels the shaking of his fingers against her skin; inside her soul. But she’s Veronica Lodge; cold and merciless, she tells herself. She’s the girl without a soul; without a care for the broken hearts she leaves in her wake and this boy across from her, with the leather jacket on his shoulders and the tears in his eyes shouldn’t be; _isn’t_ any different.

“What Jughead? You can’t seriously tell me that you thought that this would end in any other way then this; that something would just magically change and you and I would suddenly become the great high-school romance of Riverdale High.”

Jughead flinches at her words, and Veronica uses the ever so slight loosening of his fingers to pull her hands away from him; down into the dark fabric of her skirt that's flowing over her lap. She wants to look away from his face; wants to look at anything that isn’t him; but since she’s breaking his heart; he at least deserves her full attention while she’s doing it.

“You can’t be…Is this some sort of joke Veronica? ‘Cause if it is, it isn’t very funny.”

Voice quiet, lips quivering, and he looks strangely young all of a sudden. It’s strange, Veronica’s never thought of Jughead as young before. But maybe that’s because she’s never seen him look vulnerable.

“Not a joke Jughead, just a truth that you and I need to face.”

“You can’t be serious. Not after…not after all the things we’ve said, all the things we’ve done…You just can’t.”

His face crumbles as he looks at her, and Veronica’s heart crumbles along with it. Veronica’s never really been sure if she’d experienced love before, but sitting there, watching him, mind screaming, soul self-destructing, she knows she’s experienced heartbreak, and maybe it’s the same thing.

“People say and do a lot of things. That doesn’t mean that those things actually mean anything in the long run; they’re just…games we play to break up the monotony of our everyday lives.”

If words were knifes, Jughead’s skin would be dripping blood by now and all of a sudden it’s all too much; Veronica’s eyes are pricking with tears and he’s looking at her like the entire world is falling apart, destroyed by the cold in her voice. So she stands, eyes lowered, but before she can start to walk away he’s on her, hand around her wrist, against her cheek, forcing her to look up at him.

“You’re lying to me, something else happened didn’t it? Something that you’re not telling me; why won’t you tell me, I can help. Why won’t you let me help you Princess?”

His breath, heavy against her lips, she tastes love on it; taste desperation, tastes fear. And Veronica wants to give in, she really does, but she can still feel Betty’s tears on her neck; can still hear the echoing’s of her own minds self hatred, knows that when she goes home she’ll have to lie to her mom about why there’s shards of a vase in the garbage.

So instead of giving in she just bites her lip and pulls out and away from Jughead’s yearning hands.

He let’s her go.

Everything is dark except the next two steps in front of her and after she reaches the door Veronica looks back over her shoulder to see that Jughead’s watching her, eyes still soft.

“See you ‘round Jones.” she flings out; and she has just enough time to see his eyes turn hard before the door is open and she’s outside, with rain on her skin and tears on her face.

* * *

Veronica isn’t sure how long she walks. She knows that she’d passed the Pembrooke a while back; knows that know she’s standing on a bridge, the one that leads out of Riverdale, knows that the tears have stopped, but the rain hasn’t.

Funny; Veronica would’ve thought it would be the other way around.

Dark sky, she can’t see any stars, and the rain has soaked her, making all her clothes sticky; tight and irritating against her body. Veronica can hear the rain land on the river, knows that the river is rising higher and higher, but the bridge railing is too tall and wide for her to look over it, and all of a sudden it feels like seeing the river rise is the most important thing in the world. Like maybe if Veronica sees it she’ll be able to remember what it feels like to be happy.

So she kicks off her Louboutins, because they’re probably ruined from the rain already, and pulls herself up and over. She feels the rough concrete tear her nylons and the skin underneath them, knows that her manicure has most likely been chipped into oblivion, but her legs are swinging through the air with nothing but water beneath them and the rain’s long since washed away the last of her make-up and she feels a sort of ridicules freedom rush through her.

 _I wish Jughead was here too,_ she thinks, and that’s all it takes for the tears to begin again, because what good is it to be recklessly happy if it isn’t with him.

She can’t see the river below her, it’s too dark and the rain is too heavy and Veronica knows she should just go home, but it’s a long walk and if she’s being honest, Veronica’s not really sure where home is anymore, hasn’t for a long time now.

“Hello?” a voice calls out from behind her and then, “Veronica?”

She turns at the sound of her name, blinking at the sudden glare of headlights. Veronica can’t see who’s speaking, not with the rain and the light in her eyes, so instead she calls out tentatively,

“Hello? Who’s there? I can’t see you.”

“It’s me Veronica, it’s Fred Andrews.”

A black lump moves, independent from the shadows that surrounded it and when Fred speaks again Veronica hears the wary fear in his voice.

“It’s past one in the morning Veronica, what are you doing out here?”

 _And why are you sitting on the edge of a bridge railing,_ is the unspoken question, Veronica knows, it’s clear from the worried edge in his tone. It’s an edge Veronica hasn’t ever had directed at her, not really, and the result of the realization is predictably more tears.

“I…I was…I left Pops and then I just…was here.” she chokes out.

“You want a ride home?” Mr. Andrews asks, coming closer, arms already extended.

She can’t answer him, the tears are coming too thick and fast for her to even think, but she swings her legs off the edge; slides forward until he can lift her down. He doesn’t say anything, but the tightness in his jaw reminds her of Archie when he’s upset or worried. They make it halfway to the car before she remembers her shoes; remembers that she’s tearing the feet of her nylons to shreds on the cold pavement. He fetches them without a word, and clutching them to her chest she thanks him in-between sobs.

The rusty truck door creaks, Mr. Andrews wraps her in an old jacket that's sitting in the backseat, with Andrews Construction embroidered on it’s lapel and sawdust on it’s sleeve, makes sure that she’s buckled in tightly before closer the door behind her and walking over to his side.

He turns the heat up full blast as they pull away, lowers the volume of the radio; an oldies station playing songs that sound like the songs her mom would sometimes play when she was little and Hiram was out of town on business. She wonders if her mother’s noticed that she’s not home yet, but the thought makes her blood run even colder, and she tries to think of nothing at all.

“Veronica;” Mr. Andrews starts, then hesitates, looking over at her with concern like he’s worried to say the wrong thing.

“Veronica, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to…but is there anything you’d like to; I don’t know; talk about? Get off your chest?”

Veronica tracks the movement of the windshield wipers, swallows hard, then whispers, “It’s not a very happy story Mr. Andrews; or a short one. It’s more of a big, tangled mess really.”

“Well, I’ve got a full tank of gas and some back roads I could check for flooding on the way back to the Pembrooke.”

He doesn’t ask about bringing her to Betty’s instead, like he knows that he wouldn’t have found her were he had if she’d had someone to go to.

“Won’t Archie be wondering were you are?”

“I was having dinner with some friends over in Greendale, so I told him that I’d be back late.”

Rain swishes against the windows, and Veronica’s not sure if it’s Fred’s reassuring smile, or the fact that the old dumpy truck she’s sitting in feels safer then any confessional she’s ever been in, but whatever it is tugs at her, makes her not want to waste an opportunity to be honest.

“And you promise that you won’t tell anyone? Not even my mom, or Archie?”

“Consider me your personal fault of secrets.”

Veronica bites her lip again, tastes more blood from earlier with Betty. 

_It’s now or never._

“It all started about four months ago. My parents were in the middle of their divorce and I’d been broken up with Archie for a few weeks.” glancing towards him anxiously, but if Mr. Andrews has any reaction to the reminder of her and Archie’s breakup it doesn’t show on his face.

“Betty wasn’t really talking to me at that point; she couldn’t understand why I’d broken up with him and so she took his side, even though we both tried to tell her that there wasn’t any side to take. My mom-“

Veronica cuts herself off, because there are certain things she doesn’t think that people should hear about Hermione Lodge at her lowest; things that Veronica herself wishes she could forget.

“My mom had been having a really bad day; and I’d had to say goodbye to my dad at the airport that afternoon; so because I was upset and lonely, I decided to go to Pops; even though it was late.”

Memories flash into view and Veronica swallows down the tears she can feel in her chest.

“I thought that it would be deserted, but I was wrong. Jughead was there, he was having writers block and asked me to sit with him; I guess he thought that I’d be a good distraction or something. Anyway, I sat with him, and we talked about movies and books and our hopes and dreams and somehow I ended up telling him about; well, everything really. About my parents, and just my dad in general; about me breaking up with Archie and how Betty wasn’t speaking to me; basically everything I could think of.”

Streetlights flash, bouncing off the truck’s hood, and Mr. Andrews gives her an encouraging smile, urging her to continue, even though any fool can see where the story is headed.

“I cried that night; it was the first time that I’d cried since my dad first went to jail. And Jughead didn’t try to make it better, didn’t try to stick his nose in and fix everything. He just held me and let me cry, and once I had finished crying and had started to get angry he borrowed a hammer from Pop Tate and just let me go to town on my pearl necklace, and when I started to cry again he didn’t judge me; just wiped my face and told me that if anyone would be okay, it would be me.”

Veronica’s story halts there for a few minutes as more sobs choke her and Mr. Andrews squeezes her shoulder sympathetically. She collects herself as fast as she can, blowing her nose on the brown paper napkin he offers her, before she tells him the rest of the story, not that there’s much more to tell, but Veronica’s never been able to talk about any of it before.

So she tells him about how shunned cafeteria lunches had turned into library meet ups; tells him about late nights, first at Pops and then with Jughead climbing in through her window, laptop in hand, ready to show her the newest classic that he’s added to his list of ever growing favorites; tells him how one morning after they’d both fallen asleep during the movie, Veronica had woken up inside Jughead’s arms, and instead of pushing him away she’d pulled him closer and how when he’d woken up he’d done the same.

Veronica doesn’t attempt to explain anything away; doesn’t try to pretend that she’s not a sinner. After all, she’s been a big girl for a long time now, and she knows right from wrong.

What she does explain is the first break, the first realization that innocent friendship wasn’t what was between her and Jughead, probably never had been. Then she explains the pulling away, with guilt and agony on both sides and how Betty had decided to forgive her for no other reason but that she’d needed to ask Veronica for advice on editing her article and how to get Jughead to notice her more, to stop hurting her.

And Veronica replays it all for Mr, Andrews; talks about how they were once again thrown into each others orbit and, like magnets, hadn’t been able to pull away from one another. She talks about the night they kissed, about how angry she had been with Betty for forcing her to once again protect her from herself. (A small amount of editing comes into play there, and Veronica somehow forgets to mention that Archie had been there too.) Veronica tells him how she’d run away, and Jughead had chased her, and how for one beautiful moment, Veronica had believed in happily-ever-afters. But then she tells him about tonight, and how Veronica had forced herself to, for once, do the right thing.

Her shoulders shake while she’s telling Mr. Andrews that, but she’s all dried up inside, and for the moment all her tears have been used up.

He doesn’t say anything until Veronica’s finished, and they’re sitting in front of the Pembrooke, listening to the idle hum of the engine.

“For what it’s worth Veronica, I do think that you did the right thing tonight. It’s hard I know, I’m not saying that it isn’t, but it’s right. And for what my humble opinion’s worth, I don’t think that this is the end of your and Jughead’s story.”

After that he’d walked her to the front door, frowning when she hurries to reassure him that she can get to her apartment without assistance, telling her ‘it was nothing’ when Veronica tries to thank him for listening to her and bringing her home.

Her mom isn’t awake when Veronica enters the apartment, so Veronica locks herself in her bedroom; pealing off layer after layer of now ruined designer clothes, and instead of pajamas, she pulls on Jughead’s flannel; because it smells like him and Veronica is apparently a glutton for punishment.

By the time her head hits the pillow Veronica can already feel a headache approaching and her last thought, is that she’s really not looking forward to going to school tomorrow.


	8. But We Had Already Crashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit different, a little short too, but Jughead's disassociating and I didn't know how else to show it lol. Let me know what you think of the chapter and enjoy!! <3

 

He ends up going to Archie’s; tells him that he and his dad had had a fight over a problem with the Serpents. Archie believes him; pities him, sets up Jughead’s old mattress on his floor; doesn’t ask anymore questions. Jughead spends the night staring at the ceiling, listening to Archie snore.

He doesn’t sleep, and he’s up and dressed before sunrise.

They run into Fred in the kitchen, because Archie is forcing Jughead to eat something. Fred doesn’t say anything, just offers the use of his truck for them to drive to school in, and looks at Jughead in a way he doesn’t really like, why he’s not sure.

Archie makes pancakes and bacon. Jughead covers his plate with a napkin, sliding it into the trash at the first opportunity. He honestly can’t remember the last time he wasn’t hungry.

Archie drives, and talks about football; about camping when it’s finally summer, about how he doesn’t want to waste their last summer together. Jughead grips the seatbelt, murmurs ‘yes’s’ and ‘maybe’s’ and wonders how he can still smell her perfume.

He can’t seem to engage with anything, like he’s been cut off from his own life and is now being forced to watch it from an outsider’s perspective. It’s a terrifying feeling, cold and lonely, because no-one else notices; because no one else is watching. So Jughead watches.

Watches the clock tick slowly and see’s whiteboard after whiteboard get covered in ugly black streaks; watches as the sun shines in through the windows, brighter and brighter with each passing moment.

(It’s so horrendously cheerful; such a direct opposite to his internal warfare, that Jughead ends up taking it as a personal affront, glaring at anyone who mentions it.)

He watches Betty distribute copies of the Blue and Gold, watches Archie laugh with the football team and chat with Josie, but mostly he watches what hurts the most to see, Veronica.

Watches her at her locker; outfit styled, hair and make-up perfect because it; _she,_ always is. Watches her sit in a different seat in Spanish and stay behind to talk to the teacher, murmuring something about testing out of the class before graduation. Watches her protect Betty from Cheryl’s biting insults, ( _More chips, really Betty? I need the girls on my squad to practice a little more self-control.)_ and watches her wipe the blood away, from under Betty’s fingernails; from the center of her too pale palms. Watches her pretend he doesn’t exist, watches her pretend that her world is only as big as the blonde girl at her side. He watches as much as he dares, if only to make her pay for not watching him right back.

Betty asks him to walk her home from school and doesn’t try to hold his hand. It’s only when they’re in view of her front door that he finds out why; finds out that the redness in her nose wasn’t caused by the cold.

“Juggie I…I think that we should break up.”

She glances towards him, face guilty and waiting for, Jughead guesses, some sort of reaction.

He keeps walking, stare following a bluebird that’s been disturbed from it’s nest, then sighs, “Yeah, we probably should.”

She tears up at that, green iris’s swimming in saltwater, like she’d been hoping for a different answer, one that involved him falling to his knees, begging for her to reconsider; to stay with him. But they’ve been headed here since the beginning, even without the extenuating circumstances of rich black leather or big brown eyes, and Jughead has never been one for beating a dead horse.

“We’ll…We can still be friends though, can’t we?”

He accidentally steps on an anthill, toes grinding it into oblivion, then looks at her, forcing his face into what he can only hope resembles a smile.

“Of course we can Betty. You, me and Archie, the three musketeers, a trio of trouble for the rest of our lives.”

(For a minute Jughead thinks he’s overdone it, but then Betty shakes her head and lets out a small giggle and he knows that he was right.)

“You always know how to make me feel better Juggie. I guess…” a pause, they’re standing on her front porch and he sees the tears rise again. “I guess that I just thought that we’d be the forever kind-of couple, you know? The kind that would stay together for the rest of their lives and people would point out and say, ‘do you see those two; nobody thought they could overcome and yet there they are.’”

He can’t answer that, it’s really more of a thought spoken aloud then a remark that requires comment, so he wraps his arms around her, feels the guilt ridden part of his heart unclench and then shatter, because why was it that Betty was doing this too little too late.

“I thought this would hurt more,” Betty murmurs, stepping back from him, fingers tightening her blonde ponytail. “When I talked to Veronica last night she made it sound like it was one of the most painful things in the world.”

The words fall into the cold air innocently enough, but the sound of them jolts him like a knife through the heart, pulling his soul, the one that’s spent all day outside his body; watching; back into place.

“She…Veronica knew?”

Jughead knows his voice is filled with more emotion in that singular name then it has been for the rest of the conversation; can see it in the way that Betty narrows her eyes at him in confusion and wondering.

“Yeah; I told her last night, why?”

“No reason. I just noticed that she was acting sort of strange today, that’s all.”

One last lie with Veronica as the reason for it and Betty believes him completely.

“Well, V’s never been that great of an actress.” She chuckles, Detective Betty at it again and Jughead shudders into himself; feeling like he’s about to be sick.

(That could be the result of his unfilled stomach; he hadn’t eaten lunch either; but he knows that what it really is, is _her_ ; with her toxic words and death filled eyes, leaving his stomach heaving and hungry for more at the same time.)

* * *

Jughead tells Archie the news of his and Betty’s breakup that night over video games and soda. And Archie asks him if he wants to talk about it, because he’s Archie and that’s the sort of thing he does. Jughead says he doesn’t, but they end up talking anyway, and Archie doesn’t seem to notice how Jughead never says Betty’s name, or if he does notice, he doesn’t say anything, because who else would Jughead be talking about.

Later, when Fred’s home from work and Archie’s gone over to Josie’s for a quick jam session, Fred looks at Jughead with those eyes again, the ones that look disappointed and yet understanding and sympathetic all at once. He doesn’t explain it and Jughead doesn’t ask, his only guess being that Archie had told his dad the news. And all the while he forgets more and more about Betty, their relationship seeming more like a distant reality then a recent fact, and instead feels his blood begin to boil hotter with each second that passes, because she had known.

Veronica had known that Betty was planning on breaking up with him, had known that they were only a few hours away from being able to claim each-other as their own without any sort of fear or guilt, and instead of telling him, had taken his heart like she had taken her daddy’s pearls and pounded it to ruble in front of him.

(That night he sits on Archie’s bedroom floor and writes that maybe she thought it was some sort of sick and twisted ‘coming full circle,’ and that maybe it was in her deluded mind. He deletes it instantly, but he doesn’t forget it.)

Jughead tells himself that it’s a silver lining; that anger will inspire more creativity then happiness, and he’s not completely wrong. He writes when he can’t sleep, when he’s hiding in the library in-between classes and during lunch, because even though Betty had sworn that it wasn’t a problem for him to still sit with them Jughead just couldn’t make himself pretend anymore.

(At least that’s what he runs back to as an excuse, even though he knows the real reason is that he can’t sit there, watching Veronica, caught between hating her and loving her, between wanting to scream things that he knows would destroy her, and grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her like a dead man seeking life.)

His dad doesn’t try to contact him until Friday night, when he calls him, with a rough voice and drawn out pauses, and tells him to get himself home before sundown. And Jughead does, because the alternative is sitting in Archie’s room, looking through his window; watching the dark head of hair that looks so out of place when it's silhouetted by the bubble-gum pink of Betty’s bedroom; seething and wounded.

* * *

Saturday is tense, and for once Jughead is relieved to watch his dad’s back leave the trailer; relieved to hear the words, “I’m going out to the Whyrm.” leave his father’s lips.

_Veronica Lodge is a beautifully wrapped package of pure malice and manipulation._

Not true and Jughead shakes his head at the black and white, finger pressed harshly against the delete key.

_Veronica Lodge is…_

A pause, ready made insults waiting at his fingertips, but Jughead refuses to write more lies.

_Veronica Lodge is the personification of humanity; the good, the bad; the ugly, the beautiful. She is anger and distain, mixed with weakness and fear. She is naive enough to want to hold the hearts of those that love her in the palm of her hand, and cold enough to know just how hard she needs to squeeze to break them. And she does break them, I know she does, because she broke me._

Words blur and the glow of his laptop is too bright in his eyes and he can feel himself shattering; over and over again, an endless cycle. Jughead slams the computer shut, shoving it to the side, sliding over dingy carpet. Knees, thighs, tight against his chest, back to the wall, shoulder on the floor, and how long has it been since he’s looked at his ceiling from this angle?

He remembers falling out of a tree in Archie’s backyard once, how Mrs. Andrews had pressed rubbing alcohol against his knee and Archie had whispered, wide eyed and pale in the doorway, “It’ll hurt less if you cry Jughead.” He hadn’t cried then, but he does now, and wishes that Archie’s words could be true. 

They aren’t.

He forces them out, lips raw from his teeth. They run hot over his face, burning him, leaving redness in their wake, marking him as the broken and vulnerable mess that he is; but they don’t make it hurt less, not one bit. Jaw tight, teeth grinding together, and Jughead’s choking on words that shouldn’t be said, not here, not like this. Not when it’s too late; not when he should have said them the instant he knew he meant them.

“I love you…I love you, I love you so freaking much and it’s too late…”

The tears come hotter and faster, boiling, and his breath’s coming out in gasps, shallower and shallower each time and Jughead’s nails are digging to his arm, right in the center of that stupid tattoo. He digs them in harder, undecided on whether he wants to use it as his anchor or rip the flesh off entirely. Desperation, terrifying thoughts and Jughead wishes that someone, anyone, was there to hold his hand; to tell him that everything will be alright.

There isn’t, there never has been and so yet again Jughead is the one. He picks himself up off the floor, plugs in his laptop, puts away the dishes that he knows his dad will never get around to, brushes his teeth; ignores the hauntingly familiar, half dead look that’s in his eyes; and tucks himself into bed, and the voice in his head murmurs,

_You can hate her now, it’ll be easy. Just hate her like she’s started hating you._


	9. Hurt Me, Bleed Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might love this chapter's ending a little (okay, a lot) Hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know what your favorite part was! <3

 

“Uugh!”

Betty’s groan of dissatisfaction echos loudly through Pops and something, call it habit or training, forces Veronica to focus on her, eyes shifting away from the sketches Dilton’s been showing her. She’s completely face-planted, blonde ponytail flung haphazardly over the table and lets out another strangled noise seconds after the first.

“Looks like duty calls.” Dilton jokes sympathetically, and Veronica flashes him a small grin before walking over to Betty’s booth and sliding in across from her.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s going on?”

“…ipping lunch.”

Betty’s voice, muffled by the table and her squished nose, is indecipherable, but Veronica gives it seven seconds of consideration before asking,

“What did you just say?”

“I said,” sitting up, brushing wisps of hair from her face, “Jughead’s been skipping lunch.”

Betty isn’t looking at her, she’s looking out the window actually, but Veronica tightens her expression all the same; feels her soul leap at the sound of his name.

“Okay, Betty; Jughead can barely go fifteen minutes without shoving some sort of food, usually of the unhealthy variety, in his face.”

That’s what Veronica had been trying to tell herself anyway, and she hoped it sounded more convincing aloud then it did in her head.

“But I haven’t seen him in the cafeteria at all!”

“I’m positive he’s eating B. You probably just haven’t seen him.”

_No, it definitely didn’t sound any more convincing out-loud._

Betty groans again, reaching up to rub her face with over-exaggerated vehemence in a way that’s become very familiar to Veronica over the past week.

“But what if he isn’t and it’s my fault!?” Betty whines, and Veronica has to dig her teeth into her cheek in an attempt to not sigh in frustration.

Because Veronica hadn’t thought that Betty could get any more incessant, but with each day that passed she was being proved wrong over and over again. She liked to believe that if she wasn’t so emotionally drained she would have been more sympathetic to Betty’s plights but deep down inside she knows she wouldn’t have been; after all, Veronica’s never been the most patient person.

“Betty, I need you to listen to me okay?” Green eyes lifting to her face, sandy lashes fluttering. “I firmly that everyone should be given a full week after a breakup to wallow in whatever way they choose to, which in your case means watching cringey Christmas rom-coms and eating waffles almost exclusively. So I’ve been letting you do that and not saying…anything really; but the week is up and I’m going to start giving you some hard truths now.”

“But hard truths are so…I don’t like them.”

“I know you don’t,” Veronica grits out, burning a spot of torn vinyl beside’s Betty’s head with her stare, refusing to let her eyes roll like they so desperately want to. “but you need to hear them anyway.”

Betty rolls her eyes, mutters, “Fine.” as shortly as she can.

“B, you broke up with Jughead. You said that you were done and washed you’re hands of the relationship, which means that you don’t have the right to stick you’re nose into his business, or worry about him. You are no longer his girlfriend, so that stuff doesn’t have anything to do with you anymore.”

“But we’re still friends!” Betty interrupts. “We promised one-another that we would still be friends.”

Her tone is pleading desperation and this time Veronica really does roll her eyes.

“Fine; if you’re still friends, why don’t you just ask him why you haven’t seen him in the cafeteria lately?”

“I…Well…Because I can’t do that, it would be weird!"

“And why would it be weird exactly?”

“Because we…broke-up…”

Her sentence trails off slowly, and the next second her head is back on the table and she’s groaning again.

“I just hate feeling like he’s alone V. I mean, I know that he has Archie but Archie’s a guy; he doesn’t know how to do the sensitive, emotional, type thing; not for Jughead anyway. And Jughead’s never really hung out with anyone except me and Archie; unless you count the Serpents, which I don’t.”

Veronica grimaces at that, remembering the conversation she and Jughead had had about that exact topic. Jughead had told her he didn’t mind only being close to a few people in Riverdale because he’d probably just end up being closer to his collage friends anyway. She hadn’t agreed with him at the time, still didn’t really, but Jughead had just smirked at her in a way that made her glad that there wasn’t anyone else taking up his time.

“Again Betty, not your issue.”

Shaking her head at Betty’s melodramatic slumping, Veronica thinks, not for the first time this week, that Betty is really squeezing as much sympathy and attention out of the breakup as she possible can.

_You’re just jealous that you can’t talk to anyone about your breakup._

_No; we weren’t even dating._

_But you wanted to be._

“I think you need a break B. Like a vacation or something.”

 _I want a vacation._ Veronica thinks; thinking back to beautiful, scorching hot summers in the city, where her biggest boy problem had been which boy she would take to the summer’s award shows as arm-candy. Before Jughead and his sin-filled eyes, before Riverdale with it’s angry stares, always watching for the next scandal. It felt like a lifetime ago; like a completely different world.

“I’m getting a vacation though!” Betty exclaims, lifting her head to look up at Veronica, eyes shining in excitement. “My parents are letting me fly down to California to visit Polly at UCLA, I thought that I told you!”

“You definitely didn’t, I would remember that. How did you convince them to let you go and skip school?”

“I told them that we could count it as early college visitations, which technically is true since I was thinking of going there next fall.”

Betty’s expression is so happy, such a glowing reminder of her tender years, that Veronica can’t help from grinning back at her as big as she can.

“That’s amazing B. You’ll go, get a nice tan, and by the time you get back you will have left all your worries about Jughead behind you.”

“I’m going to try, but it’s so hard V. I know that I would feel better if I knew that he had someone to talk too but there isn’t anyone except…”

She trails off, stare drifting over Veronica’s face, her expression brightening with each passing second, then whispered, “It’s you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who should go talk to Jughead! You’re more sensitive then Archie, and you don’t have any awkward history with Jughead like I do; so you have to be the one being his friend!”

Her words tighten the knot in Veronica stomach and Veronica wonders just how strange Betty would think it was if she were to burst into tears the next time that Jughead’s name was mentioned.

“Betty…You’re not dating him anymore, which means that…” a shuddering breath and Veronica’s gripping at the edge of her seat, nails digging into faux leather.

“I have no more reason to hang out with Jughead now that you two aren’t dating. We have never been friends, we just hung out because of you and Archie.”

Her words taste like sawdust on her tongue and she doesn’t know where to look.

“But you always would talk to him for me before.” Betty pleads, reaching her hands across the table to grab Veronica’s reluctant ones.

“Yes; before, when you were dating him. But you’re not anymore, which means that I’m saying no.”

And Veronica means it, she’s resolute and steeling herself against saying yes, but then Betty’s looking at her with those big, sad eyes and swaying their connected hands back and forth over the table and whispering, “It would make me feel so much better if I knew you were there for him. Please V? Pretty please? For me?” in a voice that betrays just how much trust she places in her.

“Betty I…I can’t.” It hurts to admit that, and she wonders if Betty will notice the tremor of her voice.

“Why not V? Why can’t you talk to him just once, for me?”

A few minutes later Betty leaves Pops chattering away excitedly to Polly on her phone, face bright and shining, leaving Veronica behind in the booth, head in her hands, tear choked, voice thick as she murmurs, “How am I ever going to be able to do this?”

* * *

It’s two-thirty in the morning, Betty is at home, packing maybe, but most likely in bed, Veronica’s mom is out of town having dinner with some of her old city friends, and Veronica’s been having a staring match with her phone for the past hour.

It hadn’t taken very long for her to decide to call Jughead instead of texting him or, heaven forbid, actually trying to speak to him face to face; but just because she had made a decisiondidn’t mean that Veronica was finding it any easier to follow through.

She doesn’t want to call him; doesn’t want to hear his voice again. After all, it’s not like she isn’t going to cry herself to sleep anyway; why add his voice to the ever churning mix? Well, because she had promised Betty, that’s why. Because Betty had begged and pleaded and held her hand tightly; (not a great reason, hell, not even a okay one, but it’s the only one that Veronica has.)

Veronica doubts that Jughead will answer her call, and one part of her hopes he won’t, because then she can tell Betty that she did her best but it just hadn’t worked out.

Another part of her, the part that's in control of her heart, wants him to answer, wants to hear his voice filling her eardrums, drowning out the loneliness. And that’s the part of her that reaches for her phone, ignoring her shaking fingers, and presses on his name.

It rings, once, twice, a third time, and then twice more.

 _I tried,_ she sighs, _he didn’t answer me._

A sixth ring and Veronica’s just about to pull the phone away and drown herself in the crappiest tv sitcom she can find when a voice, accompanied by a loud burst of static echoes in her ear.

“Hello?!”

The voice is vaguely familiar, but it’s not his, she knows it’s not his. Veronica can hear shouting and loud music through her phones speakers.

“Hello? Is this Jughead’s phone?”

“Who’s asking?” The voice yells, and Veronica winces slightly, pulling the phone away from her ear.

“This is Veronica, Veronica Lodge? I was hoping to talk to Jughead.”

An indefinable shout comes across the line that sounds slightly derogatory towards Veronica, and then a different voice comes through, female and slightly less inebriated.

“Jughead’s phone, Topaz speaking.”

Topaz; Veronica knows a face that matches that name. Short and pretty, but a bit too lace and leather for Veronica’s taste.

“Hi Toni, it’s Veronica speaking. I was calling to talk to Jughe-“

“Yeah, Fangs said. Look Lodge, here’s the deal. We threw a little ‘exiting the gang’ party for Jughead at the Whyrm, and sometime after the seventh drink Jughead shut himself away upstairs and started refusing to let anyone in. I had Sweetpea lift his phone so he wouldn’t try calling Betty in some sort-of post breakup desperation, so- Fangs if you don’t quit that I swear that I’m gonna come over there and chop off your manhood with the dullest knife I can find!- If you want to talk to Jughead you’ll have to come down here and talk to him in person. I think you probably should come get him out of here before it starts getting any crazier ya’ know? I’d do it but- Sweetpea! Fangs! Would the two of you find a way to spilt your shared braincell so you stop acting like complete idiots please!- And Jughead and F.P don’t seem to be on speaking terms at the moment, so if you could just pop on over and grab him, it’d really be a huge favor for everyone.”

The whole burst of words is so rushed, so interjected with promises of bodily harm, that Veronica can hardly understand what Toni’s asking of her at first. But then she does, and the whole situation sets off alarm bells in Veronica’s head.

_I’m not going over there. If he’s hiding away in the dingy upstairs of some old bar it doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’m not going to go over there._

That’s what Veronica’s brain says, even if she’s already slipping her heels on and yelling into the phone that she’s on her way loudly enough for Toni to be able to hear her.

_I swear that I’m not going over there._

* * *

Noise; that was all Veronica was able to focus on when she pushed open the White Whyrm’s heavy door, standing as tall as she could in her Jimmy Choo’s.

Voices rose and fell, but mostly rose; glass shattered somewhere out of eyeshot and some less then pleasant music bellowed above it all. She doesn’t like it; doesn’t like the way her skin starts to crawl; doesn’t like the way she immediately wonders how Jughead could stand it.

“This might be a little far Southside for a pretty lady like yourself.” whispers a voice, sticky sweet, in her ear.

Veronica jolts at the sound of it, and scowling up at him, pushes Sweetpea and his wandering hands as far away as she can.

“Shove off Sweetpea. I’m not here for you and your less then stimulating company.”

He smirks at her, slow and lazy, stare scratching along her body in painfully long strokes.

“Maybe not Lodge; but you could be if you wanted too and I think-“

His voice chokes out; stare trapped somewhere behind her and over her head. Veronica turns, following it, and feels herself go cold at the sight of the Serpent King. He jerks his chin upward; Veronica can hear Sweetpea tripping over himself to get away; and then he drops his stare to her. His eyes look like fire, burning into her, anger filled because he knows, and Veronica doesn’t think that he’s standing far enough away for her to hide the guilty scars on her soul.

“Topaz!” F.P shouts, rough and war-like, and Toni appears from seemingly nowhere at the sound of it.

“If you’re gonna ask for an expensive cut of meat,” eyes flicking over her, and Veronica can feel herself flinch, “try not to throw it to the dogs without protection. Someone might end up trying to take a bite.”

Toni nods, eyes wide, and hurries over to her, grabbing at Veronica’s elbow. Fishnet snags on wool and he turns away, the red on his jacket looking a hell-of-a-lot more like blood under the filthy lights.

Veronica swallows hard, tries to listen to the flow of Toni’s words, but the screams of dirty, sinful, guilt are thumping in her ears and the clacking of Veronica’s heels sounds much to delicate and vulnerable when compared to the stomping of thick-soled, mud-covered boots.

“Jugs’s up here,” tugging her to the bottom of a dust-covered staircase and pressing Jughead’s phone into the palm of Veronica’s hand. “He’s got a chair in front of the door I think, but it’ll slide out of the way if you give it a good push, and the door doesn’t lock. Your driver knows how to get back to Sunnyside, right?”

Veronica nods, but Toni’s not looking at her, so she coughs, tries to clear the condemnation out of her throat. (She can’t.)

“Yeah, he knows.”

“Good; Jug’ll show you the back way out, he won’t want to go through everybody out there.”

And with that, and one last comforting squeeze of Veronica’s elbow; one that she doesn’t find very reassuring; Toni disappears back into the ever churning crowd, leaving Veronica by herself at the bottom of the stairs.

Veronica walks up them cautiously, slides her hand along the safety-rail, feels dust that’s probably older then her clog up her fingerprints. The old covers everything, she can feel it filling up her lungs, and when she brushes against the door the old comes away in waves. She wants to run; wants to be anywhere but here; to be anywhere but now.

Knock, knock, knock, goes her knuckles on wood.


	10. Tell Me You Need Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the chapter after this is going to be categorized as a 'epilogue,' this is But Darling, Who Ever Said That Love Was Fair's last official chapter. I'll save the mushy stuff for the epilogue, so for now I'm just saying thank you for 2000+ hits! <3<3<3

 

The lightbulbs burned out.

The lightbulbs burned out and the moon is peering through the window and Jughead wishes he was at home. Moonlight illuminates the dust that’s floating through the air, pushed back and forth by the power of his breath.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Knuckles on wood, Jughead glances toward the door but doesn’t sit up. He’s floating in the air like the dust, back and forth and in and out and hardy existing.

“Jughead?” calls a voice, and Jughead shuts his eyes against the sound of it, lazy and dragging, waiting to wake up.

“Jughead, if you don’t open this door I’m going to.”

Metal squeaking, wood creaking and the door slides open. Too yellow light snakes over the carpet and Jughead lets his eyes wander up to what he thinks will be Toni’s face. Except it isn’t Toni’s face, not even slightly, and Jughead can feel his breath catch; on edge and dangerously close to destruction.

Veronica’s face is covered in shadows, but the shadows can’t cover the hesitant fear, the barely there confidence, that’s filling her expression. Music jumps through the floor and Jughead doesn’t say anything; won’t be the first to break through the silence that’s choking the air.

“Jones.”

“Lodge.”

_Last name basis, that’s where we stand now._

“I’ve been sent to bring you home.”

She takes a half step forward; towards him, closer, and Jughead scrambles to his feet; towering above her; as a warning to not come nearer.

“You weren’t invited.” he growls out, and Veronica lifts her chin towards him in deviance.

“And yet here I am.” Reaching out, his phone resting on her palm, “So are you going to make use of my car or not?”

Jughead doesn’t answer her; can’t trust himself to, just stalks up to and then past her, snatching his phone from her as he does so, careful, painfully careful not to touch her.

The music pounds louder the nearer to the bottom of the steps Jughead gets; louder and higher and full on kill-my-eardrums. He ducks away from it, into a back hallway; stops himself from checking to see if Veronica’s keeping up with him. Squeezing past a couple with half-lidded eyes and swollen lips, ignoring their mumbled protestations, and then out in the cold air, blinking at the too bright headlights of Veronica’s car.

They don’t speak on the way back to Jughead’s trailer. It’s just smooth leather under fingertips and velvety darkness and heavy, soul-sucking silence. He watches her reflection in the window, watches her straighten her skirt, one, two, three times, twitching it this way and that, never satisfied, her quiet, shallow breaths stealing the air from his lungs. The smell of the Whyrm coats them, thick and dense; all nicotine and limes, and Jughead can’t decide whether or not the scent of her cinnamon shampoo compliments it or not.

Slowing to a stop, and Andre glances back at them in the review mirror, discomfort at their angry silence barely concealed by professionalism. Veronica’s the first to get out, and the sound of her slamming door sets Jughead’s ears ringing. He follows slowly, not sure whether he should follow her inside or run far, far away until Riverdale is just a distant nightmare.

It ends up being the former.

The door clicks shut behind him and Jughead sags against it, stare following Veronica’s darting movements, because somehow she’s already found the coffee pot and mugs.

 _She does’t belong,_ Jughead thinks, and he’s right. Veronica, with sharpened high-heels and her skirt tight against her legs, didn’t blend in well with chipped countertops and discount granulated coffee. She looks, he thinks, like a well dressed paper doll, cut out and pasted into a world that was decidedly not her own.

His world.

Veronica’s wool coat, smoky grey and probably more expensive then the trailer they were standing in, hangs over the back of one of the kitchen’s mismatched chairs, looking as out of place as it’s owner does and Jughead wonders how many non-cotton threads are wrapped up in it. To many to count most likely, but Veronica doesn’t seem to care about that. She drops into the chair, gripping a spoon in one hand and a now steaming mug of water in the other, then tears the tiny bag open, spilling light brown grains through the air, to be dissolved on the heat. Her expression’s calm, complacent even, and Jughead can feel disgust climbing up his throat.

“You knew.”

Stirring, stirring, stirring; dark eyes frozen against white ceramic.

“Knew what?”

One step forward, hands clenched, on the fence in-between calm and not.

“That Betty was going to break up with me.”

Hesitation and then, “Yes,” as easily as if she’s been asked if she wants a refill of her soda.

Too relaxed, like Veronica isn’t really surprised he knows; like she doesn’t care. She’s acting as cool as ice, and Jughead wants nothing more then to make her shatter, to make her become the frantic, burning soul from a few days ago.

“You knew…”

Words an repeat, his brain looping in on itself, over and over. Her eyes drift up to the fridge; to crayon doodles done by a baby Jellybean that neither Jughead nor his dad have the heart to take down because they can’t stand to face the thought of ‘never coming back,’ and then jerking over to Jughead’s face like they can’t be kept away.

“I knew.”

“…You didn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t my job to tell you.” Crossing her legs, uncrossing them, the toe of her shoe dragging along the floor. “Betty was the one breaking up with you, so-“

“No, that night _you_ were the one breaking up with me Veronica.” He interrupts, because they’re on his turf now, and on the Southside; in the darkness, there wasn’t any time for sweet lies, only burning truths, and Jughead wasn’t going to let Veronica get out of this with anything less then a scar.

Turning fully towards him, lids lowering, slow, methodical, ebony lashes fluttering against her cheek. “I didn’t breakup with you, we…we were never together. Not officially anyway.”

It’s a feeble excuse, and Jughead can see that she knows it. It’s not much of a crack, barely a hairline split, but it’s enough to separate the facade and he can feel nasty smile crawl up his face at the realization. Veronica catches the smile, fleeting as it is, and latches onto it with all the strength she has.

“You’re still hung up on all that Jones, really? And here I was thinking that you were more mature then the rest of the boys in this dried-up town.”  
  
“I’m not hung up on anything!” He snaps, surging forwards at the sight of Veronica’s rolling eyes. “I would just like to know what changed, because one minute you were acting like you couldn’t live without me and the next it was like I was nothing more then a speck of dirt on your shoe that you couldn’t wait to flick off, and I think that I have the right to know why!”

“Because…” teeth on her lip, biting down hard. “Because that’s just who I am and what I do!”

“What is? Who are you?”

“I’m the Queen Bee. The classic, ice-cold rich bitch, who takes what she wants without caring about anyone.”

“‘Takes what she wants?’ Veronica, what are you talking about; what did you want?”

“I want- I _wanted_ the one thing that I wasn’t allowed to have; I wanted what was Betty’s, and that just so happened to end up being you.”

Anger clogging his bloodstream, burning hotter and hotter with each word.

“You were Betty’s, utterly and completely, and that’s what made you interesting. What appeal do you honestly think you could’ve had for me if you weren’t? You didn’t; you don’t, and so the game ended when your relationship with Betty did, easy as that.”

Her words cut against his soul, each sharped with that intent, but past the rage, glowing red; Jughead see’s the almost hidden quivering of her dark lips; see’s the wine colored fingertips lifting to her throat, and Jughead knows; he knows that she’s protesting too much.

“Ya’ know, I’ve thought you were a lot of different thing over the years that I’ve known you, but liar wasn’t one of them.”

“I’m not lying, I’m just…done. With you, with all of this.”

 _Okay,_ Jughead thinks, _okay, if she can lie then so can I._

“I hate you.”

The words hang in the air, dangerously calculated. Veronica blinks, one, two, three times; sucks in a shuddering breath.

“…So?”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t care.”

(But her hands are clenching nervously and she stands up, knee’s locked tight, so maybe she does care. That’s what he hopes anyway.)

“I hate you more then I’ve ever hated anyone else, even my parents.”

Another step towards her, and it isn’t dark enough to hide the extra shine in her eyes. “You’re acting just like your father! You’re a disgusting liar and I hate you!”

Brown eyes widen, jaw falling slack, another step forward.

“I hate you more then anyone else will ever be able to!”

“Not more then me.”

Words, spoken low, sending Jughead’s heart spiraling; but he’s so close.

“Veronica, are you listening to what I’m saying?! I hate you!”

“GOOD!” shrieking, flinging her arms outward, hand colliding with ceramic, sending it crashing to the floor, brown coffee flying through the air, white glass shattering on impact, scatteringeverywhere.

Her shriek is loud, and the breaking of glass is louder, but it’s the sound of Veronica’s barely stifled sob that sets Jughead’s blood running cold.

Knee’s press against linoleum, shoulder’s shaking and dark fingertips in stark contrast to the broken mug. Veronica’s tears are muted, like she’s trying to choke them down for later, but they keep filling up her eyes, distorting her vision, and it only takes one flinch away from a partially sharp piece for Jughead to step in.

“Veronica…Don’t…Stop, you’re gonna cut yourself. Let me do it.”

Shifting her away but gently, gently. Paper towels and a barely used broom.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a mug. We can buy a new one if we need to.”

A pause and then, once Jughead’s back is turned; hands carrying the broom pan filled with white shards,

“…I’m so sorry.”

She’s choking out tears; sobs muffled by the paleness of her palms, and she’s not apologizing for the mug this time.

“I know. I am too.”

Hands and knees sliding over the floor, arms wrapping around her, her small hands feigning to push him away but gripping into cheap cotton instead.

“I’m…I’m glad you hate me. I want you to hate me…”

“Why?”

“Because I…You were happy with Betty and I took you; I took you all for myself and I broke Betty’s heart and…You deserve the good, the light; I snatched it away from you…I snatched it away from Betty…”

More tears, his finger’s brushing against her dark curls. Veronica’s arms wrap around him, hesitant and wondering, finger’s brushing delicately over his throat, sending his heart racing; soul screaming; blood pounding.

“You do realize that I don’t hate you, right Princess?”

Jughead’s hands leave her hair then, deciding to settle somewhere in-between the last of her ribs and her too fast heartbeat, and the fact that she doesn’t push him away sounds like _maybe things’ll be all right._

“Well I do. I hate me.”

“We’ve both made mistakes Veronica; you, me, hell, even Betty and Archie screwed around; they kissed during sophomore year, remember? And do you see it stopping them from living?”

“…No.”

Veronica’s answer comes out slowly, and Jughead can feel her looking at him, all soft eyes and shaking lips; begging to be broken. An engine revs to life in the distance and his grip on her tightens instinctively, rough calluses catching on the silk of her top.

“I’m not going to try and argue with you about this, because I know that I won’t be able to change your mind. But in this past week I realized something; something that I think you should hear before rushing off and saying that we should never see one another again, okay?”

“Okay.”

Deep breath, air rattling around inside his lungs and it feels like this could be the most important moment of his life up to this point.

“I don’t have a lot experience with; well let’s call them, ‘healthy’ relationships. My dad and mom always used affection as a weapon; ‘I used to feel like this or that about you and now I don’t and here’s why,’ and with Betty…everything was based on a common need; so that neither one of us would have to be alone.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Feelings and relationships always seemed to be about personal gain; and the minute that it stops giving you what you want you just let it go. But with you…”

A pause, so loud he can feel it in his bones.

“With you it’s like I don’t have to worry about anyone but you, because you have my back; you’re always going to watch out for me and make sure that I’m alright. And I like that, I like waking up in the morning and having your face being the first thing I think about, I like wondering what you’re doing and who you’re with and when I’m gonna be able to see you again.”

“…I like that too.” Veronica interjects and Jughead acknowledges her words with tightening of his arms, unable to stop the flow of his voice.

“Veronica, I love with you. Not _in love_ with you because I’m never gonna be out of it, and not _falling in love_ with you because that just means that the love is going to break apart at some point; I just love you. And I know that love doesn’t conquer all and things are always gonna get worse before they get better in relationships, but I also know that I made my choice about my future and who I wanted to spend it with a long time ago, and I chose you. Because love isn’t just a spontaneous thing that happens, it’s a choice and it’s pretty damn hard work most of the time, and I wouldn’t want to work on it with any other person on this planet that wasn’t you, because I’ve decided, right here, sitting on the kitchen floor of my dad’s trailer, that you’re it for me; and that if it’s love without you I don’t want it.”

She pulls back from him, tears stopped but eye’s still shining and Jughead feels his breath catch; feels the panic of _oh crap I’ve gone to far_ flood through him, chasing the sense of _the truth is prettiest in the light of her._

The feeling’s of eighteen are there too, strong and boiling, and he can’t stop his eye’s from dropping down to Veronica lip’s; slightly parted and over-bitten, practically begging to be kissed.

(Jughead doesn’t lean down to kiss them though, he’s been practicing self-restraint too long to just give in, at the sight of kissable lips; at her hands on his shoulders; at the warmth of her breath dancing along his skin.)

“Jughead…” starting, stopping, stare all over his face, wandering and wondering.

“Jughead I…Oh, you’re such a jerk!”

“What? Why! How am I jerk for saying ‘I love you?’”

“Because, how am I supposed to respond? I’m not like you, I can’t just come up with grand, romantic speeches at a moments notice. All I would be able to do is say I feel the same and how pathetic of a response is that?”

“Princess…” Jughead starts, and then he’s cut off, with a laugh in his throat and Veronica’s lips against his and just as fast she’s pulling away, forehead pressed against his, and their combined breath warm in-between their lips.

“I love you too.”

Three whispered words, her big brown eyes are looking up at him and Jughead’s never heard something so dangerous yet so comforting.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Surging forwards, her fingers tearing at his hair while his trace pattens across her back, her shoulders, her hips. Veronica’s lips taste like a brighter future and Jughead wants nothing more then to drown in them, lost in the promise of tomorrow.

“Say it again.” He murmurs against her skin, her nose pressed to his cheek.

“I love you.”

Another kiss, her dark nails scraping into his scalp.

“Again.”

“I love you, Jughead. I love you.”

“I love you too, Princess. Forever.”


	11. But The Darkness Gave Me You (An Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started this story, I had no idea what it would turn into, all I had was an idea and some angsty words. Eleven chapters later I've reached what I feel is the only ending that this story could have had, other then Jughead and Veronica parting ways, never to speak again and heartbroken; but I'm not quite that cruel lol.  
> I want to thank every single reader who took the time to go on this journey with me, every single person who hit the kudos button, and every single person who took the time out of their day to comment; (with a super special shoutout to Bearfacedcheek who commented on almost every single chapter and gave me the strength to struggle through my writers block. <3)  
> I just want to thank you all, and so I'm saying, I hope you enjoy this chapter of BDWESTLWF, for the very last time. <3<3<3

 

“One croissant and light roast coffee for a Veronica!”

Veronica pushed through the crowd impatiently, pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder and reaching out to snatch her order from the pick-up counter with hurried thanks to the baristas, before escaping outside.

“Mija, I really hope you’ll come back to Riverdale for Thanksgiving. The Pembrooke just doesn’t feel the same without you here.”

“I know Mom,” sidestepping a overeager dog and his gawking owner, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “But I promised Daddy that I’d spend Thanksgiving with him, and I swear that I’ll be there for Christmas break, okay?”

A burst of silent static flies over the line, voicing her mother’s displeasure better then any words ever could hope to. Crossing the street, wincing slightly at the way her toe has decided to cramp inside her heel and sipping at her coffee. It’s not good coffee really; too bitter; but it was the closest none-chain coffee shop to NYU that wasn’t extraordinary expensive.

“Mom? You still there?”

“Yes sweetheart, sorry. I was just having to go over this email of Fred’s again. I told you about how he’s going to restore the drive-in, right?”

“Maybe one or two times.” (Or five or seven.)

“Oh, sorry. It’s just so hard to keep track of who knows what these past few weeks; I can’t seem to remember anything!”

“Mmhhmm.” Veronica murmured, slowing her pace to hang back from what was obviously a group of tourists. Eyeing them wearily, wondering if she had ever looked that stary-eyed about something. Probably not, she guessed, at least not about a group of buildings.

Her mother kept talking, and suddenly Veronica felt the paper bag holding her croissant pulled out of her hand. She whirled around, phone still held tight against her ear, but her mother’s voice trailed off into the obscurity that always comes with not being paid attention to.

“Mom,” she interrupted, “I have to go now, but I’ll call you back tonight okay? Love you!” pulling the phone from her ear and dropping it into her purse with an unamused look at her breakfast thief.

“That’s mine.”

“You’re the one who asked me to save you from the horrors of the freshman fifteen. I’m just doing as I was told.”

“That was only in cases of stress eating and you know it! That croissant was my breakfast!”

He looks down at her, eye’s smiling, cheeks bulging with delicious pastry, and Veronica found herself fighting against the instinct to sweep her fingers through Jughead’s black curls, which are at last free from the confines of grey yarn.

“Who’s on the phone?” offering her the half of the croissant he hasn’t eaten and swinging his arm around her shoulders as they leave the tourists behind them, sunlight warm on their matching dark hair.

“My mom. She was on me again about going back to Riverdale for Thanksgiving.”

Jughead grimaces, faux shuddering and pulling her closer; away from the chilling breeze of their shared Riverdale pasts.

“Riverdale seems determined to get up in our business today, don’t they?"

“Why?” slowing to a stop and standing in front of him, because Veronica knows that the edge in his voice is about more then her mother refusing to take no for answer.

“Nothing, it’s just…Archie emailed me.”

“He _emailed_ you?”

Her voice is incredulous, she can hear it when the words leave her mouth. She wishes that wasn’t her reaction, but when she and Jughead had left after graduation, preparing to spend their summer exploring the city before college and avoiding her father at the penthouse, (an awkward situation that had only been bearable during the last few weeks, after Veronica had sat down with both her father and Jughead; after she had said that yes, her father had done bad things but he was trying to be better, and yes, Jughead was a _former_ gang member and had grown up in a trailer park but he loved her and she loved him and how many times did Veronica have to say former before her dad understood that?) they hadn’t left very many friends behind them.

She and Jughead had announced that they were dating at Veronica’s graduation party; and by announced, it really had just been Jughead tearing through the crowd as soon as he had arrived and kissing her senseless in front of everyone, including Veronica’s prudish aunt Cecilla, both of her parents and Archie and Betty. There had been outrage all around; outrage that Veronica was ashamed of publicly and amused by privately. Jughead had ended up with a black eye, Veronica with a rapidly reddening cheek and a milkshake stain on her Alexander Wang dress that was never going to come out.

Needless to say it hadn’t gone over very well.

“Why did Archie email you?”

“To apologize, mostly.”

“Mostly.”

Jughead’s teeth flash as he grins at her sheepishly, hands reaching out, finger’s slipping into the edge of her high-waisted skirt, tugging at her until Veronica gives in, stepping closer to him.

“He may have also asked if I was going to be in town for Thanksgiving. Apparently his mom and dad invited my dad over to eat with them, some sort of olive branch from my dad extended to me through Archie.”

Biting down on her lip, tasting flakes of her lipstick on her tongue. True, she and Jughead hadn’t exactly talked about spending Thanksgiving together at her dad’s, but Veronica would have been lying of she’d said she hadn’t been expecting that they would.

“So are you going to?”

The look he gives her is nothing less then baffled as he answers, “Am I going to spend an awkward day with people that now know nothing about me instead of spending a day gorging myself with mind-bogglingly expensive turkey with my equally mind-bogglingly, exquisite girlfriend? Hmm, that is a difficult decision.”

“Oh shut up!” laughing, swatting at his chest, letting her nails drag across the soft cotton of his shirt. “I only asked because we hadn’t talked about it and you haven’t spoken to your dad since we left.”

“I’ve called him, he hasn’t responded and I refuse to be manipulated by the promises of food.”

“Only because you know that the food here is going to be better.” Veronica murmurs, tilting her face closer to his, waiting for a kiss.

But instead of kissing her, Jughead just pulls her back to his side and starts to walk over the crosswalk, his long stride forcing Veronica into she privately names an atrociously fast pace.

“Do you ever regret things?” Jughead asks once they’ve reached the sidewalk, his eyes turning serious.

He’s been getting into moods like this recently, moods with nostalgia filled thoughts and wonderings about what-ifs. What if things had been different. What if happiness could have been reached without having to go through the darkness. The questions scare Veronica sometimes, and she silently curses his English Lit. professor for asking him to write a short-story inspired by his high-school years; but then Jughead will look at her with a reassuring smile and give her a kiss that isn’t so much reassuring as it is knee-weakening, and then she feels better. So Veronica grips his hand tightly; answers as carefully as she can.

“I regret not being honest with everyone from the start. I regret lying to Betty and Archie for so long. I regret that I was stupid enough to try and break your heart to stop you from loving me. I regret not telling that I loved you for so long. But I don’t regret how we started, because if we hadn’t started where we had, we might never have gotten to where we are now.”

Nodding, silent, and he doesn’t look at her. And maybe he’s just distracted by a passing car, or the old man sitting on a bench across the street, licking an ice-cream cone; maybe Jughead’s gotten a new book idea that he doesn’t want to forget, but the twist in her stomach makes Veronica think it might not be any of those things.

“Jug, do _you_ regret things?”

A long pause, filled with Veronica sipping nervously at her lukewarm coffee and Jughead staring off into the distance, hand dropping hers and lips pressed together in a straight line, and then,

“Does your dad hate me?”

“Does my dad _what_?”

“Hate me. Or dislike me enough to have hired thugs come after me if I do something that he doesn’t approve of?”

“You know that he doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore, and no, he doesn’t. I mean, he doesn’t like you, but he respects you, and when it comes to having a non-blood relation to my dad, respect is the best thing you can have. Why do you ask though?”

They’re off the pavement now; inside the entry to a small dog park, grass swishing at their ankles. Veronica keeps her eyes trained on Jughead’s face, because the air seems to be getting heavy all around them and she wants to see his face when he answers her. His hands twitch anxiously, and right before Veronica can try to reach to take them in her own, he slides them deep inside his pockets, out of sight.

“What about surprises? Does he dislike them?”

“I don’t…I mean, I don’t think so, but what are you asking for? You’re not making any sense Jughead.”

“Well…I guess I was just wondering how you’re dad would react if you were to show up wearing something like this.” pulling his hands from his pockets, right fist clenched tight; extended towards her.

Veronica feels confusion etching itself over her face and Jughead smiles down at her, as easily as breathing; but there’s a spark of nervousness in his sea-foam eyes that crawls under Veronica skin. Her hand lifts, palm upward, waiting. She can feel the comforting heat of Jughead’s hand as his fingers hover above hers, fingertips skating over her hand, opening slowly, dropping a barely there weight into her waiting palm, then receding quickly, flying away from her. Veronica’s eyes drop as his warmth departs.

(Later, years too far down the road to imagine, Jughead will tease her about how loud she’d gasped, how large her eyes had gotten, and Veronica will swat at the back of his head, only to have him pull her close and whisper that up to that point, she had never look more beautiful to him, wide eyes and all.)

It’s not a large setting, but it is beautiful; a solitary sapphire burning bright blue against the contrast of sparking diamonds and a gold band that is thin, painfully thin to the eye of anyone who isn’t Veronica.

“Jughead…” she breathed unable to look up at him, unable to even move “Did you…Is this what I think it is?”

“Well,” plucking the ring from her palm and sliding it over her finger “if what you’re thinking it is, is a engagement ring then you’re correct.”

“But…you can’t; we can’t. Not like this!”

“Why not?”

He’s teasing her, Veronica can hear it; can see it in the twitching in the corner of Jughead’s mouth and she resists the urge to stamp her foot.

“Because you didn’t even ask me, you just gave me the ring!”

“Oh, well if that’s the only issue.”

Dropping to his knee’s, Jughead looks up at her, all loving eyes and soft smiles shining up at her. Veronica can hear the sound of camera’s clicking in their direction, but she doesn’t care, because everything she cares about is kneeling at her feet and she knows that she’ll remember this moment forever. Tears crowd at her eyes, threatening to spill over and Jughead clears his throat.

“Veronica Cecilla Lodge; I love you. I have been struggling over how to ask you this question for weeks now because I wanted to create some sort of ‘perfect’ time and place to ask you, but then I realized that any time and any place would end up being perfect because _you_ would be there, and anything is perfect if I get to have it with you. So I’m here, on the side of the road, on my knee’s, asking you if you’ll take mercy on my love and on my knees, and become mine, through the good times and the bad, until we’ve both died and maybe even after.”

His hands, slide up the back of her calves, hooking themselves behind her knee’s, Veronica’s hands move out to him, fingers dancing over his cheekbones, brushing his dark curls from his face and then she leans down.

The kiss is sticky sweet, Jughead tasting like french pastry and Veronica tasting like too bitter coffee and chills run up her spin at the way he stands, hands dancing up her sides, pulling her close to him before pulling away and whispering against her skin huskily, “So is that a yes then?”

“It’s a yes, forever and ever, for the rest of my life.” Veronica murmurs back, and then he’s kissing her again, tears and all and somewhere deep inside her, Veronica feels the hum of her soul, a soul that’s finally mended with all it’s cracks sealed close.

_Dancing through the light is what pulled me to the darkness, but the darkness gave me you._


End file.
